


Beneath The Hanging Tree

by ElysiaTod



Category: Shameless - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Graphic Violence, Hunger Games, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, Hurt, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Multi, Non-Main Death, Not at all sorry, Shameless AU, Violence, hella angst, shameless us
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-03-19 16:21:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 26,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13708158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElysiaTod/pseuds/ElysiaTod
Summary: Hunger Games AUThe way the games run(ie the drawing) will be different to play up my ideas.This will have a lot of angst and hurt before things go well. Gallavich will happen, though.(On Hiatus but not abandonned. Just needing to get back inspiration))May the Odds be ever in your favor.





	1. The Draw

**Author's Note:**

> The drawing

The games had been happening for years now. It was normal for people to gather around the family TV and watch kids as young as twelve kill each other for sport. The grueling way the rich would sit back and watch the slums of their country fight fear into their hearts so they could maintain control up on Capitol Hill. 

Ian was getting dressed for the drawing. The Gallagher’s were notorious draft dodgers ever since Frank managed to avoid the draw and Monica had been deemed unfit to serve. Fiona had been set as the caretaker of the kids too young to partake so they put her on the list of those too old, despite that she was just now nearing the edge. Lip had been able to figure out the odds of everyone’s pull and the way they went about adding or subtracting the amount of times a name was put in. His brains managed to keep him out of the jar. 

Still, they went dressed and ready to be pulled. It was unlikely that Ian would be called but he couldn’t bring himself to cheat the system when so many young kids were tossed into the draw.

He finished looping his tie and stepped into the kitchen where Fiona was walking around with a broom and Liam on her hip. She looked up and smiled at Ian’s nice shirt and pressed pants, “You look amazing.”

Ian gave her a weak smile and a nod. It felt as though he just dressed for his own funeral.  
_____

The Milkoviches were infamous in the southern district. Terrance was an old victor and had made an agreement with the capitol for food and comfortable living. In return, he gave them one of his kids as tribute every year. The four oldest boys had already competed and won. Jamie, Tony and Joey had all won off their brute strength and vicious fighting skill, Iggy was sneaky and had the ability to vanish until the very end-simply winning through endurance.

Each year Terry put up a kid he thought would give the most entertainment to the games. Keep the capitol laughing as his children tore others limb from limb. He’d bred monsters.

______

The crowd of the southern district was full of hungry, dirty people. The smell of alcohol and bad water pressure strong amongst the people. So, when the woman dressed in an elaborate costume of design and vibrancy stepped onto the stage, she stood out like a sore thumb.

“Hello Southern District!” She spoke into the mic with far too giddy a voice for the death warrants she was about to hand out like Halloween candy. Sitting near her on the stage was Terry sitting fat and happy with his dirty, hardened kids standing at his flanks. She seemed to smile awkwardly towards them before speaking again, “My name is Sheila and I would love to welcome you all to the eighty-fifth annual Hunger Games!” She began clapping her gloved hands, only joined by Terry and the armed guards from the capitol. She kept her awkward, half crazed smile as she continued. “Well, as we all know for the past 85 years we have kept our peace in our country by taking two young people from each major point of our great land and having them compete in an awe inspiring competition of bravery, skill and valor. Now!” She lift her hand with a wiggle of her fingers, “For the first tribute..” When her hand went into the bowl everyone held their breath. She took her sweet time opening the tag.

“Ian Gallagher!”

Ian’s heart stopped. How? Out of everyone here...out of all the kids younger, older even his age...how?

He stepped forward. The kids around him parting and murmuring. He could hear Fiona comforting a crying Debbie in the background but it felt like he’d gone numb. He got on the stage like a dog with its tail between his legs.

Terry’s laughter was what broke the silence. “Look at that poor sucker! Looks scared shitless. Chin up, fucker, welcome to the games!” He slapped his knee slightly like this was the greatest thing he’d seen. Soon the crowd began falling into line. Chuckling awkwardly along with him. Then someone yelled out for Terry to send a good one. People yelling out recommendations of which neanderthal of a son that would be funny to watch kill Ian on the big screen. One even shouted that he could even send his daughter and it’d still be a show. That only caused more humor to wave through the crowd.

Terry put a hand up and the crowd stopped. “I got my kid for ya, Sheils. Best one, too.” With a snap his youngest son stepped up. A dirty boy with spiky dark hair and a scowl on his face. It looked like the guy had been living in the woods for weeks. The hard look of his face and mud covered hands made it clear he could probably kill Ian bare-handed. “This is my son Mikailo. He’ll take down even those fuckers in the north. Just watch.”

The cheer was deafening to the point Ian barely even heard Sheila get on the mic again.

Mickey moved to stand still like a pillar by his side. He gave off a warmth and smelled like sweat and earth. Ian’d seen him now and again but barely knew him.

“You have your tributes! Happy Hunger Games and may the odds ever be in your favor!”


	2. Loud Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot is said without words. It starts to sink in just how dire this situation is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is still Ian's perspective. Would you guys like to see more from Mickey? Or shluld this stay with Ian?

Ian and his fellow tribute were led to a small room in the building attached to the stage.  
This was their only chance to say goodbye to their families. Like predicted, the Gallaghers rushed in and attacked Ian in a tight group hug. Ian could hardly keep himself calm as his family attacked him in hugs and questions. The younger ones unable to really understand the gravity of the situation while Debbie, who’s name was in the drawing for the first time, clung to her older brother and sobbed. Lip was spewing advice that Ian half listened to. What could Lip possibly know about actual battle? He might know strategy but he didn’t know this fear. 

Fiona was the last to come up, eyes wet as she yanked him into a crushing hug. She pulled back holding his face and asking if he was okay before hugging him again, telling him over and over that he had to survive, had to come home.

Ian’s heart was nearly carved from his chest when the soldiers came to remove them. Debbie screamed the entire way out causing Liam to burst into wails. He could do nothing to comfort him.

With his family gone he noticed through the thick haze of emotions that Mikhailo had had no one to come say their farewells. Right when they were about to be moved to the train car a pretty young girl came into the room. The dark hair and blue eyes gave away that this must be his younger sister. She pulled him into a tight hug. The two of them held on for a long moment before she stepped back, having a silent conversation with her brother. He gave her an uncomfortable sniff and nodded after wiping at his nose. She gave his cheek a pat with a sad smile and left the room. Not a word had been shared.  
____

Sheila was congratulating them. She had been for the past five minutes. Just rambling on and on about how this was such an honor and how they were so brave and strong. Ian looked down numbly but, apparently, the praise wasn’t sitting well with the dirty boy next to him.

“Ain’t like we had a fucking choice. Look, we get all you fuckin’ Caps think this is something we look forward to but ain’t no kid wishin’ to die young. So if you could stop the bullshit and just tell us how to fuckin’ win that’d be peachy.” Despite his harsh words his voice was calm as he laid back with his arms crossed kicking his muddy boots up onto the table, raising his eyebrows high when Sheila went to correct his lack of manners.

Sheila screwed her thin lips into a tight purse before sighing, “Fine. Let me fetch your mentor.” 

She stepped out of the room and Ian dared a look at the guy who was now picking his teeth. Under all the dirt he seemed….pretty. There was something oddly intriguing about him. 

“Uhm, so I’m Ian.” He stuttered out.

“Good for fuckin’ you, Gingersnap. Need a gold star?” The boy snapped back.

Ian frowned, that stubbornness kicking in, “Usually you respond with your name.” 

“Usually people ain’t dumb enough to keep yappin’ till I decide to stab ‘em.” He looks to Ian with those perfect brows lifted in shockingly perfect arches, blue eyes fiery.

Ian mumbled an apology and looked away picking at his hands. Clearly this guy wasn’t down to talk or even know his own, possible teammate. After all, they’d been allowing districts to win as duo’s after the eightieth game. But, it seemed, this guy was old school and would rather be the last one standing.

“ S’Mickey.”

Or...maybe not.  
____

Sheila came back in a bit later fixing her hair with a fluff of her hand. “Youens is getting a beverage it seems. He’ll be in in a moment.” She stood there awkwardly staring at them. This woman was a quack. That was for sure.

A door slid open and a disheveled man with bloodshot eyes and in a bad need of a shave stumbled in with a tumblr in hand. He sat back with a deep sigh as he sunk into the plush seating.

Ian leaned forward eagerly asking what they needed to know.

“Easy there.” The man groaned as he rubbed at his eyes like his head was pounding. The way he smelled so similar to Frank told Ian it most likely was. “Just got here kid. Enjoy the decorum.”

“You’re our mentor! You’re supposed to help us! Why else are you here?” He looked at the drunk in shock. He was frustrated and scared and this piece of shit was doing nothing.

“Mm, the refreshments.” Youens twirled his drink in example before taking a gulp. But, just as he was nearly done, a sharp kick to his chair made him dump it on himself. Ian looked at his Mickey, who was glaring hell fire at the guy with his leg outstretched.

Youens glared at him and sat upright again, “Made me spill my drink.”

“Boo-hoo. Now do your fuckin’ job. The guy asked you a question.” Mickey snarled at Youens clearly not down with the drunk.

Youens narrowed his eyes, “You wanna live? Get sponsors. Which means you need to get people to like you.” He pointedly looked at Mickey with that. “You’re just ask likely to die from infection or the environment as you are the other tributes. Find water. Stay safe. That’s all I can really give you. You do your job by not dying, I’ll do mine by kissing ass with the rich so you can get support. Really, this is all on you.”

 

That night Ian was laying in bed in their shared room on the train, staring up to the ceiling. He couldn’t get his mind to stop so he finally gave in.

“Mickey? You awake?” He whispered into the room.

“I am now.” The boy grumbled into his pillow.

“Are you...are you really ready to do this?”

Mickey shuffled in his bed, moving to face him in the darkness. “No. This isn’t something you ever get ready for, man. It’s just somethin’ we gotta do.”

Ian swallowed thickly and nodded. “Do you think you can actually kill somebody? Kids that are younger than us?”

Mickey was quiet for a long time. Long enough that Ian began to think he fell back asleep. Then he finally managed to get words out.

“I think I’ll have to.”


	3. Let The Games Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey's POV.
> 
> He gives some more background to the games Ian is so in the dark of. How is the boy who was born to win taking his time as a tribute?

Mickey was the first to wake up. He sat up in his cot and looked over to where the young Gallagher lay facing away from him. The games were going to eat him alive.

With a heavy rub to his eyes he made his way to the bathroom for relief from his bladder and morning breath. He splashed icy water on his face before looking to the mirror. He never liked his appearance. The dark hair and bright eyes made harsh with his near constant scowl. All he saw was his father or, at least, the weapon Terry had created. With a tsk he looked to the white knuckled grip he had on the sink and nearly laughed at how it made his tattoos pop. The tattoos his father thought would make people less likely to notice his size. Mickey’s brothers were titans whereas Mickey was short but sturdy. He wasn’t built to fight out of brute force. He was scrappy and, unlike his older brothers, he could take a hit.

He glared at the mirror with a snarl. He was raised to be in these games. Born and bred.  
The games had been around for so long he couldn’t even think of a life outside of a warzone. Ever since the country had rebelled on the Capitol after centuries of systematic oppression and being bullied into submission, the games had been their punishment. What better way to control the slums than to kill off those little lights of hope. The future was the children after all.  
He shoved away from the mirror and left the room. He couldn’t afford to think this way. He couldn’t sit here and think about the injustice of it all. Life wasn’t fuckin’ fair. That’s just how it was. He’d known it since his mother died. It was time he remembered it.

With a shake of his head, his game face was back on. 

When he entered the main car Youens was already dumping booze into his coffee. Breakfast of champions.

He grabbed something simple and a cup of coffee, trying to ignore the bitterness that rose knowing that there was all this food while people back home went to bed hungry more often than not.

“Early bird I see.” Youens spoke without looking at him. Mickey barely gave him a grunt in response. “You’re a Milkovich, right?”

Mickey narrowed his eyes at the man, “You’re a drunk, right?” 

Youens laughed at that and gave his drink a swirl, “Thirsty.” He sat forward, moving his boots from the table to the floor. “Now tell me, why on earth would your father donate his own spawn to something like this?”

Mickey glared further. This guy was almost begging to get socked in his smug, ugly face. “I ain’t a fucking tribute, bitch. My old man trained us just fine for this shit. So butt out of shit you don’t belong in.”

Youens simply shrugged. “Just don’t understand, I guess. It’s going to make getting you sponsors hard. You know that right? You’re not exactly a likable guy.”

Mickey shrugged, “Don’t gotta be likable. Just gotta be the winner.”

Youens opened his mouth but said nothing as the door slip open and a sleepy redhead walked in.

“Mornin’” Ian mumbled as he grabbed a drink and sat down with a rub to his face and then a crooked, friendly smile.

Youens motioned to Ian as he stood, “See? Likable.”

Mickey nearly growled when he left the car. Ian was glancing at him in confusion. Mickey couldn’t help but snap. He wasn’t in the mood in the slightest.

“The fuck you lookin’ at?” He snarled to the pretty faced boy.  
“Nothing.” Ian looked away cutely and fuck Mickey couldn’t afford to think like this.   
His father had always made it clear ever since the rules changed five years ago. By no means were they to win as a team. It showed weakness. If they couldn't kill from their own district how were the expected to survive. He couldn’t get attached to this guy. He didn’t like his father’s standards, but there was only two things he could do about it; win with Ian and be killed when he got home or be killed in the games. He wasn’t willing to die for his father.

Ian ate quietly next to him after that. Apparently too nervous to even glance his way. Something about it made Mickey’s stomach roll with guilt. He didn’t know what it was, but there was something about this kid that he felt drawn to. He felt the odd need to protect him.

“Are you scared?”

Mickey blinked. It took him a moment to realize Ian had spoken. He spared him a glance. Mistake. Those big green eyes were looking at him in such a raw way that it sucked out all of Mickey’s sarcasm and before he could think, he was being honest. “Fuck yeah.”

Ian smiled crooked and sad, “Me too.”

Come the early afternoon Sheila burst into the car and urged them to look out the windows with a flourish.

Standing up to the glass there it was.The capitol.  
Everything was glass and color. There were trains speeding by on rails taking people to wherever they wanted. The buildings were tall and the streets were clean. Everything was so different from what it was like back home. It felt like they came to a new planet.

Ian was half amazed, half terrified and it showed all over his freckled face. His lips were parted and eyes large and round like he might panic at any moment. Mickey could hardly believe himself when he set his hand over the boy’s. Ian looked at him in shock but Mick just stayed glaring straight ahead and held on a little tighter. Ian took his hand in return. They stayed like that until the train jerked to a stop upon arrival. This was it.

Let the games begin.


	4. Boys On Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heat builds as the games draw near.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mild violence  
> ((Though this is a Hunger Games AU so if thats a trigger why are you here?))  
> Two chapters in one day?! Who knew!

Laying on a gurney like table while being scrubbed down by strangers was quite possibly the worst thing Mickey had experienced to date. They’d bathed him twice under a harsh spray to get all the dirt off of him and now he was stuck on this table listening to them bitch about his tattoos. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes and turned his focus to the boy next to him.

Ian had his hands in tight, nervous fists and seemed to hold his breath whenever someone touched him. Now in the tank top and shorts they had them in for the cleaning, Mickey could see that he wasn’t as gangly as he looked. He had muscle, lean and long, but much harder than his young face might convince someone to believe. They were talking about cutting his hair, the bangs in his eyes continuing to play on his baby face and making him stand out with its vibrancy. 

For some reason that sat wrong with Mickey. He couldn’t determine why, but the idea of the redhead losing any of his fiery top made him angry. It felt like they were saying Ian wasn’t beautiful. Stop. None of those thoughts. 

He glared back to the ceiling and soon was moved to the next room.

“Up and at em!” A warm, brotherly voice came from the doorway.

Ian and Mickey both sat up in confusion to see a tall, giant of a man with long hair standing next to a curvaceous dark skinned woman with braids pinned up in a unique design. She was dressed in a slightly more chic way than Sheila but had the same Capitol style. The man was dressed basically but seemed put together all the same.

“Alright boys! I’m Kev and this fox is Vee” The guy, Kev, informed with with a large hand settling on the small of the woman’s back.

Ian lifted his hand and gave a shy, “Hi.”

Vee was instantly by his side, squeezing his cheeks like Fiona had since they were little. “Oh Kev, look how adorable he is! We’re going to make him a goddamn king.” She smiled brightly to an awkwardly grinning Gallagher, “I already know what I’m doing with you.” She nodded determinedly.

Kev laughed at her ministrations. “Don’t mind my wife. She loves all things beautiful.”

Mickey rolled his nose in disgust as Vee moved to him.

“Well aren’t you just the dirtiest white boy in the districts.” She furrowed her brow and squinted her eyes, studying him as she leaned forward with her hands on her hips. “Got kind eyes. Nice lips and and seem strong. Gimme a smile.”

“Fuck off.” Mick snarled.

She sighed, “Well we have our work cut out for us, Kev, but I think we’ve got this.”  
___

By the time Vee and Kev deemed the boys ready they looked almost like entirely different people.

Both of them were dressed in tight, leather like suits. Ian’s had a slight cape like piece over his shoulder to help pop the orange of his hair with the golden tones in it. It even fucking sparkled. Kev had cut his sides down and slicked back the top. Both boys now wore eyeliner like Kev himself.

Mickey’s suit had hints of deep violet that brought out the blue of his eyes and hidden in his hair. They’d put fingerless gloves on his suit, covering his tattoos, while Ian’s kept his bare. Unlike Ian, Mickey’s hair had been short when he’d gotten here. But now, it was slicked back into a pomp instead of its usual spikey mess filled with dirt.

The stylists stepped back with approving looks. Kev was the one to speak, “Remember boys. When you feel the heat don’t react. Make sure it seems as though it is simply coming off of you. The crowd will love it and that’s what you need.”

Within a blink they were on their chariot in line of their districts with the other tributes. When the jet black horses with glinting gold on their reigns and hooves took off, Mickey’s mind went blank. The crows was screaming so loud it sounded like one giant roar. Everyone looked as though they weren’t even human. He’d never seen so much color.

Then he felt it. The heat. He looked to Ian who immediately broke out in a grin. His suit was on fire. Ian was literally covered in flames and it made him appear like some sort of frightening king. The heat the grew in Mickey’s belly was even hotter than the flames that consumed his own suit when Ian’s hand on his shoulder triggered the flames there. He dropped his hand and the crowd went wild.

MIckey was so awestruck by the cheers he didn’t notice Ian’s long fingers sliding into his palm until he was yanking it back violently. “The fuck?!” He hissed to the grinning redhead.

“They’ll love it. Trust me.” There it was. Trust him. Something in those words melted away the icy grip of fear on his heart. Gallagher was dangerous. The fact that Mickey took his hand and didn’t flinch when Ian twined their fingers together and lifted their fists into the air just solidified that. 

The crowd screamed like banshees as they raced by, fire and all.  
__

That night they spent their first night in the capitol. They had two days before the games. Tomorrow for schmoozing the crowd on some bullshit talk show and the next would be them showing their fight skills to gain the support of the rich.

Ian was pulling on a shirt to sleep in while Mickey finished scrubbing the eyeliner off of his face in the sink.

“Do you think we have any chance in this?” Ian’s voice was quiet. Nervous energy falling out of him in waves.

Mickey shrugs as he dries his face, “I dunno man. I just know the competitions gonna be wild and if we don’t do well these next two days we might as well dress nice for a fuckin’ funerals.” He pushed past the guy, ignoring how brushing against the taller boys warm body sent a shiver through him.

Ian ran a hand through the top of his hair. “We did well tonight. I think if we keep up our look we’ll get decent enough sponsors. I can fight too, you know. Trained to be a capitol guard.”

Mickey looked at him incredulously, “You what?!” He laughed bitterly as he scratched as his cheek, “Of fucking course you have...of course you’d want to be one of those dogs.’

Ian looked like he’d been slapped, “I just...I knew if I was I could move my family to the capitol...feed us...get my siblings out of the games.” He looked away ashamed. “Not all of us get food ‘cause our dad played the game.”

Mick shoved him against the wall and growled in his shocked face, “You know nothing about my dad or my family so I’d recommend shutting your mouth ‘fore I shut it for ya.” He slowly backed off and stepped away when Ian looked to surrender. 

He was about to stalk to his bed when Ian hit him hard in the jaw right as he turned from him. Then it was on. They were rolling and swinging fists and choking each other. Mick had to hand it to him, kid had bite. But Mickey played dirty, knew how to make shit hurt, and right when Ian put his full upper body into the swing of a jab he grabbed him and pinned him with his arm in a position that would easily dislocate his shoulder, the other shoving his face into the rough carpet.

As their breathing slowed and things began to slow Mickey noticed it. He was excited...and not from adrenaline. He stayed on top of Ian, praying the boy wouldn’t notice, but when the green eyes fell to his lap and slid back up he knew. What he didn’t expect, though, was for Ian’s face to silently say, “me too.”


	5. Love Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gallagher's are pros at manipulating the public.

Ian couldn’t breath. Given, Mickey was pinning his arm to his throat and his face into the ground, but that wasn’t it. No, it was the stiffness in the older boy’s pants. He looked and sure enough, Mickey was going. He looked up to him. He felt his jaw drop. For a second Mickey looked scared. Open and raw in a way Ian had never seen the Milkovich before. He wanted to tell him it was okay. Tell him he wasn’t alone. He tried to tell him through his face and it seemed like Mickey took it in but then his face was quickly schooled to a blankness that was much more in character and he shoved up from him.

“You breathe a word of this and it’ll be the last time you ever use your lungs, Gallagher.” Mickey growled but he lacked the heat, his voice wavered.

Ian sood and brushed himself off staying calm, “I am too Mickey...I know what would happen. I’m not stupid.”

Mickey got in his face, “You know nothing about me, bitch. I’m nothing like you and your fuckin’ dodger family.”

Ian sighed. None of the slander towards his family affected him anymore. He couldn’t care any less than he already did. He didn’t agree with the actions of his parents or the lives they threw on his siblings but, there was little to nothing he could do about it. “You might not be but, I know what I saw and I know what I felt. I bet you I could prove you wrong, bring you to your knees with a kiss.” He smirked, he knew what he could do for someone physically. His body had done him good.

Mickey looked disgusted but, somehow, it didn’t seem directed towards Ian. “Kiss me and I’ll cut your fuckin’ tounge out.” He stomped over to his side of the room and got into bed, glaring daggers into the wall in front of him. 

Ian shook his head and climbed into his own bed. He knew how it felt to be afraid. He knew what happened to boys like him...like them. He wanted to tell Mickey it was okay. That he could be honest with him. But, right when he started to think of how he could possibly word something like that to the volatile Milkovich, the reality of their situation sunk in. They were tributes. They were here to kill or be killed. On top of that, Ian wasn’t dumb. He knew who the Milkoviches were. Everyone did. No one ever came home with one. They always were lone champions. They were notorious for killing their teammates in the most brutal way of all.

Ian didn’t sleep that night.  
____

Dressed and ready to go the boys waited to be called on stage to be interviewed by the plastic looking man on the stage. Ian kept tugging at the color of the outfit they had him in- a black tight jumpsuit with accents of shimmering gold making his hair stand out like actual flames. Mickey was dressed similarly with the jumpsuit but, like before, his was accented in cool tones of shining silver; black fingerless gloves a part of the sleeves. Clearly his tattoos weren’t capitol friendly.

They were both nervous. Ian could see the way Mickey’s ticks were out as he chewed his lip and scratched at his twisted brows. Ian felt like he could come undone. The only thing keeping him together being Kev and Vee’s advice to just stay calm and be themselves. They said the audience would love their natural compatibility. Sheila had told them to keep their heads up proud and smile bright. She told Mickey to use ‘nice words’. Ian thought he’d have to hold back a snapping dog after that. Youens was even surprising the both of them by playing his part. He was socializing with the elites as he drank and ate contentedly. He knew how to play their game.

Before Ian could even comprehend his legs moving, they were sitting in the plush white chairs stage facing the plastic man. The lights were so bright and his ears were ringing. He looked around blearily, feeling like he was trapped in the haze of a dream. Mickey sent a sharp elbow to his arm.

“Huh? What?” He heard himself breathe the question.

“I asked what your thoughts were when you were in flames on your chariot.” The plastic man spoke with an equally doll-like smile.

“Uhm...warm?” Ian heard Mickey snort at his idiotic answer. The crowd seemed to find him funny, though and burst into a fit of giggles.

“And what about you, Milkovich? Seemed like he passed his flames onto you.”

“I just didn’t want him to set my ass on fire.” He said in gruff crudeness. It earned an awkward laugh from the host but a few snorts from the audience.

“I’m uhm...I’m wearing them tonight..” Ian spoke up, trying to get them to turn their focus from Mickey’s less than eloquent speech. “Would you like to see?”

He stood almost mechanically after a cheer from the crowd affirmed the question.

Ian took a deep breath and let his head drop. He had to focus, breathe. He remembered how this suit’s flames turned on and after a quick cross of his wrists over his chest then moving them back in tight fists, he went up in flames.

The crowd lost it. Vee was a brilliant designer. They didn’t even know what was coming.  
When he looked to them it seemed as if the flames had their own breeze, flickering around him like it was licking his skin, moving his hair to make it look like fire itself.

Then Mickey stood. He moved to Ian’s side and reached right into the flames. The crowd gasped in fear and awe. Ian felt Mickey slide his hand from his lower back to between his shoulder blades....That wasn’t necessary… He didn’t have time to dwell on it though because the second Mickey’s suit hit the hidden key in Ian’s the flames went out in a puff of smoke and what appeared to be a spiral of wind around the two of them.

The crowd went insane.

Fire and Ice. That’s what they were. At least that’s what they were being called.

Sitting back down it came time for actual questions. Why these people wanted to humanize the tributes he had no idea. This wasn’t some reality show where the fans voted their favorites off the island, or some fantasy television where they were all actors with graphic special effects. This was real. They were really dying, yet these people wanted kids to kill each other for shits and giggles.

“So you’re a couple of attractive young men. Do you got any lovely ladies waiting for you at home?” The announcer seemed to ask it like a middle school girl asking if you “like-liked” her friend.

“Nah. Don’t pay attention to that shit.” Mickey answered with a murmur of annoyed people in the audience. 

The host looked to Ian and he knew how to play this game. He was a Gallagher. Emotional extortion was their specialty. “No girl...and not at home..but, I do have someone I’d like to have.”

The host continued with the childish act with an ‘ooooo’ and questioned him to elaborate.

Ian smiled sheepishly and glanced to Mickey who was scowling in confusion. “He’s right here..” Ian spoke like he was so in love. He hardly heard the crowd or the plastic man wishing them luck because heat was radiating off of Mickey. But, it wasn’t the heat from their wrestling match. Not even the heat from his flames.

It was hell fire.


	6. You Don't Own Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys get to show their talents and Ian notices something new about Mickey.

Mickey was livid. Words couldn’t even describe the way he was feeling right now and the second he and Ian got off stage he shoved the redhead hard. “What the fuck Gallagher!” How fucking dare this kid! Did he want to die? How could he possibly think he had the right to say something like that. “Do you not fucking know who my dad is, bitch? Do you want us both to die?!”

Sheila was there quick her shrill voice begging them to seperate, but Mickey was seeing red. Not even Ian’s lack of response was calming him down. He was fueled on fear turned rage. He shoved Ian hard into the nearest wall with his arm barring his throat. “You just ruined any chance in the world of us being a team in this. You’re dead, Gallagher. Only one of us is making it back home and it sure as fuck ain’t gonna be you.” He stormed off. He couldn’t kill the redhead here. Couldn’t even hurt the guy with the chance of cameras or game runners seeing. He’d have to wait.

Neither boy slept that night.  
___

It was time for them to try and get sponsors based on their skill. Ian felt good about this. He was efficient and nearly every weapon out there. So, as he zipped up his wetsuit-like uniform, he gave his shoulders and neck a roll and took a deep breath. He stepped into the room and glanced up to the people watching behind a glass balcony like he were a marine animal in their tank. 

“I’m Ian Gallagher, from South District.” He looked up to the eccentric people watching him like the tiny pawn he was.

With a nod from the game maker and stood by the table to start his show.

Quickly he snatched up the throwing knives and threw them out one by one spinning as the last left his fingertips to grab the sword on the table and moved into cutting the mannequin targets down. He threw the sword to hit the one in the far corner behind him as he leapt up, brandishing the knife he’d hid in his ankle and coming down hard on the body infront of him, driving it to the ground. He was fast. He knew they would have only seen him hit the one with the sword and the final, so when he stood he wasn’t shocked to see the amused, pitying faces on the people watching him.

Fooled them.

With a harsh yank of his arm the wire he’d been able to hide in the weaponry through his flared movements tugged all the blades and evey target, having been hit at its weak point, split into pieces. He couldn’t fight the cocky smirk when he heard gasps and saw jaws drop. He knew they wondered how he’d managed that. But, if he’d learned anything these past couple days- things specifically taught by his Milkovich teammate- it was that telling him he wanted to work for them was a death sentence.

They didn’t own him.  
_____

When Ian returned to the room with a grin, it fell quickly.

Mickey had his back to him, his jumpsuit halfway on and hanging down around his hips. His strong back and broad shoulders exposed but, it wasn’t the hard lines of muscle, the light dusting of freckles barely noticable on his shoulders, it wasn’t even the pale soft-looking skin that caught Ian’s attention. Instead it was the marks all over the boys skin. Some a light, almost shiny silver- old scars from years prior, some a light pink-newer scarring and especially, it was the marks that were dark in color. Some were purpled, some black even and others were crusted in dried blood or a sickening yellowed scabbing. They looked like they came from a think leather band. One across his shoulder blade looked like it had been opened multiple times. The ones on the small of his back looked like they nearly dipped straight through his muscle to his bone.

Ian’d seen some horrific things. He’d grown up in the southern district after all. But this, this was something else entirely. This looked like something that only came out of horror stories or appeared on the champions from the older, single winner, games.

He hadn’t even noticed how hard he was standing there staring until Mickey spoke up as he slid his thick arms into the tight sleeves. “Keep staring and I’ll feed you your own fuckin’ eyes.”

Ian looked away. “Sorry. I uh...you okay?”

Mickey scoffed and didn’t answer. Who the fuck was this guy?

“I did pretty well with the skill test...think they’ll be excited to see you.” Ian was trying. But the way Mickey sniffed and wiped at his nose as he picked up his things, it was clear the guy was being sure Ian knew that he was nothing. Any sense of connection they had had was torn away. Ian had ruined it with the statement of feelings towards the guy. He knew his father, he wasn’t dumb. But, he knew the crowd and knew a love story would help them. A gay one would even give bonus points, which worked well for Ian and his sexuality. Mickey, however, clearly did not agree.

Ian sighed when he still got no answer, even when asking if he should make sure some dinner was left warm for him. He sat on his bed glaring at his feet. Glaring hard enough he didn’t noticed the lingering blue gaze that came from the doorway before the scarred boy left their space all together.  
___

Mickey walked into the room and glared up to the glass box those rich fucks sat in. They looked down on him in the same way they had since he was conceived. When he grabbed for a weapon to get started the crowd laughed. Fucin’ laughed right at him.

“Start by telling us who you are, boy.” The well dressed man at the front spoke to him like a master to a slave. The game maker.

“Mikhailo Milkovich. South District.” There. Now to get this over with.

He eyed the weapons. Nothing here was his style. He was hard and person in his fighting style. He wasn’t made for distance and stealth. Killing someone unsuspecting was a cowards move.

Half heartedly, he picked up a couple knives and examined the blades. He heard a scoff and a couple chuckles. He glanced up and saw that only half was even looking at him. He knew he had a temper and could feel it spike at that. But, they wanted to rile him. Wanted him to think he was as worthless as they saw him.

He threw the knives. Each his the targets but, nothing hit anything vital. One an arm, two hit shoulders and the last hit a hip. It’d slow someone down, maybe, but it wouldn’t save him. Wouldn’t make him win.

When he looked back to the people while reaching for another tool he saw none were looking now. Some even had their full on backs turned to him.

With a growl and walked over to where the spears and bows were on a rack. It wasn’t the weapons he wanted.

With a grunt, and a turn like a shot put athlete, he sent the rack flying. The loud clatter had people turning just in time for them to witness the metal stand crash into, and shatter, the bullet proof glass. It sent glass raining in as it lodged itself into the glass box. A few, shrill screams curled Mickey’s lips into a slight smirk. But nothing compared to when the glass couldn’t handle the hit and shattered entirely. The rack and glass falling in a large sound the echoed in the windowless room.

The top of the top were looking at him in utter shock. He grinned full on. Felt his eyes crinkle and his teeth show with how he grinned. With a quick bend at the waste he nearly spit the words at the people above him that no longer had a barrier to him.

“Look forward to your support.”


	7. Ian Counts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The start of the games-Ian's perspecive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very short. I felt like it deserved to be split hhis way so that it broke properly to let the emotions I'm trying to make to sink in 
> 
> Dont worry- Another will follow quickly

Ten..

Ian stepped up onto the platform-Vee kissing his cheek and squeezing his arms with a sad smile. 

Nine…

The platform starts to turn and raise, along with his breathing and his pulse. There was no returning now.

Eight…

The platform locks into place and he starts looking around. The tributes are all in those jumpsuit like clothes. Numbers sewn into their chest over their hearts being the only things separating each suit-putting districts together. S-12 sewn in light grey on Ian’s. S-11 on Mickey.

Mickey. He’s separated from him by a few other tributes. He’s scowling and staring straight ahead, looking determined and ready to make it through this. If anyone could, Ian knew it would be Mickey. He just prayed he’d be joining him. 

Five…

A kid stepped off and instantly hit the ground as he was electrocuted. Too soon. Follow the rules.

Four..

The smell of burnt meat his Ian’s nose and his stomach rolled knowing it came from the first kid to die. The kid who stepped off too soon out of fear.

Three..

Other tributes began to crouch. If they didn’t book it fast enough the platform would become a landmine. They all knew there was no choice in the games.

Two..

All Ian could hear was a ringing in his ears as his heart pounded far too fast.

One.

He stepped off. Sprinting as fast as he could to get a pack. Fuck the weapons. That was going to be a bloodbath and as children's’ screams hit his ears he knew he was right. 

He snatched a pack and spun to dodge a knife whizzing past his ribs. The turn let him catch sight of Mickey just as he hurdled the weapons table, grabbing some weapon and bulldozing through the next few kids before he has a grip on another pack and is sprinting into the opposite side of the woods.

All around him kids were dropping, blood was spraying. A splash hit Ian’s face and despite it being warm and sticky, it felt like it was more like a bucket of ice water. He woke up and took off towards his initial destination.

A small blond boy froze in front of him once he hit deep into the woods. Big, bright blue eyes staring at him with so much fear. This painful familiarity over the small kid’s face. They both started to jerk slightly, not looking away from each other, not knowing who was a threat. Then they were both running. Sprinting away from each other.

Ian kept going. He couldn’t bring himself to stop. His legs were moving as fast as the pumping of his heart and the racing of his blood. He went until he couldn’t hear a single person near him and he felt as though he would collapse at any given second. He falling into a tree and with what strength he had left, clawed his way up to a high branch and tied himself and his pack to the tree so he could rest without fall.

Just as his pulse slowed he heard it. 

The cannons hitting loud with every hard beat in his chest.

Nine.

Nine were dead. Kids his age, his brother’s age some even as young as Debbie and Carl. Nine kids who dreamed and thought. Kids who had things they wanted to do. Gone.

So was what was left in his stomach.


	8. Mickey Finds A Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another short one before things speed up and dont slow down  
> Mickeys perspective

On the other side of the woods, Mickey was filling a canteen with water. The small creak he found was clear and cool and surrounded by edible plants. A couple bushels of nightshade popped up around it so he made note of what plants it touched. Better safe and hungry than dead.

The snap of a twig had him turning quickly and reaching for the dagger in his boot. He was on high alert. Paranoid and he knew it, but he’d trained his entire life for these games. Born and bred. The only ones that would really be a competition for him were going to be the kids from the desert districts. Fuckin’ rednecks could kill armies of spartans with a twig and a giggle. 

Then Ian. 

Ian was going to be his strongest competition and he knew it like he knew his own mind. The fucking redhead was well trained and had lived the same harshness he had, if only slightly less painful. But, the scariest part was, he’d gotten under his goddamn skin. The goofy, gangly kid had weaseled his way into Mickey’s emotions and he didn’t even realized that it had happened until he killed the kid that had the perfect aim at the fire that was the guys head. 

Ian hadn’t even noticed. Hadn’t looked. He would’ve been that tenth cannon blast and not even had the chance to witness his own end.

When nothing came out from the sounds of twigs snapping he relaxed.

He needed to find possible shelter and places to stay hidden. He had been lucky enough to find this place by the water. Not only would it keep him supplied, but others were bound to come by. Easy pickingings.

He was able to set up a dear-den in the bottom of an old oak-just a shallow cave like structure built in the roots with brush over it to hide himself a bit more. He’d see others long before they saw him.

____

Making it through the first night seemed easy. Mickey woke up with the sun, a fresh layer of dew resting over him and chilling his skin. Moving the cover he made, he moved into the sun with a stretch and went about his basics of his morning before moving a bit to listen for people. He wasn’t going to hunt others down, it wasn’t like killing was something he enjoyed, but, like the the kids at the start of this all, if they came at him they’d get mowed down.

After gathering things for food and basic needs he sat to cook. Listening close for anyone approaching. He knew people were likely to team up. A stupid move really, considering they’d have to turn anyone non district by the end. He figured if he simply stayed out of the fight long enough the majority of the groups would thin out each other’s numbers, if not their own.

He tried hard to ignore the feeling of being watched as he started to eat his meal. He knew it was paranoia and if he kept turning around like this he would drive himself insane and become too on edge to be useful. But, when the feel of his hair standing up on his neck and ice settling in his stomach hit him he knew this wasn’t basic paranoia.

He focused with his ears. He would be able to hear someone in the heavy underbrush of the woods. But nothing came. He reached for his weapons, knives that slid over the hands like brass knuckles, and turned himself about slightly to try and look around. There was someone near and he knew it.

There was a flash of white-yellow. In his peripheral and he spun towards it. Nothing.

Flash.  
Nothing.

Another flash.

This time he saw a person attached. The were closer.

He readied himself to fight and then there was an unmistakable noise.

The gutteral sound of someone groaning as they went down had him about facing. A guy his age was laying there with a throwing knife lodged into his head. A knife he hadn’t thrown.

He spun again just in time to have the blade of his knife against the pale throat of a small boy with big blue eyes and blond hair. He had to be twelve. Barely twelve. He looked like he was nine or ten. Must come from a district near his own. The kid looked scared. Terrified even. He squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath as he gripped his own hand that was holding tight onto a knife that was nowhere near poised to kill. 

Mickey stood down. He couldn’t. Not a kid this small. Not after what he did.

He’d gone soft.

“Why’d you do that?”

The boy blinked his eyes open. Shock on his face and then a deep shyness. The young boy looked up to him under his lashes and only further drives home how innocent this kid is.  
“You saved me during the weapons run. Y-you and your t-teammate are good people...I watch things.” He looked down as though ashamed.

Mick puts a hand on his head, “Smart kid.” He looks away chewing his lip. He was making a mistake. Fuck it. “Stick with me, yeah?

The kid looks at him in utter awe, “Really?”

“Sure, I’m Mickey. South.” He smiles kindly all the while handing over the kids dagger from the poor fucks head.

“Yevgeny.”


	9. Shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to heat up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally back! Life has been taking over. Work and mental health has been very stressful lately so I'm sorry it's taken so long.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

This was bad. Really bad.  
Ian had been avoiding others for days now and things were going great. Well, okay not great but he’d managed to stay out of the way of others. Now though, in the middle of him trying to just eat food, he’d run into a damn group. Why the fuck were they teaming up? Fuck! 

He kept running forward through the woods. His lungs were starting to burn as he tried to pull in air. He couldn’t slow down. If he did he was fucked. But, his thighs were burning and he could feel his knees starting to give. Of course his body was going to be what gives him away. The one thing he could control and it still wasn’t enough.

With a sharp shake of his head he dispelled those thought. He ran directly to the trunk of a thick oak and started to climb. He had to get out of reach. 

An arrow whizzed by him and he flinched. That was way too close. He could hear the others now. Barking and jeering like dogs at squirrels. A knife lodged where his hand was the second he moved it. North district. Fuckin’ trained by the capitol. Of course. Only ones that ever beat these fucks were Milkoviches. He was screwed.

Finally, he managed to grab hold of a branch that swung him around the tree. The trunk now putting him away from them. Unfortunately, the kid with the sword was climbing now. Climbing fast too. The only benefit being, this was Ian’s home terrain. He lived near woods and heavy oaks of the midwest. He could work with this and the concrete jungles of rundown cities. This was home. 

Once the guy got close enough he did the first thing that came to his head.

He stepped on him.

Shoving the bottom of his boot down hard into the crown of the poor guy below him as though he were an offensive bug. The hiss from the guy told him he made contact. That, and the nearly basketball like sound when he felt his foot bounce.

The kid skidded down the tree and quickly swung.

A thick sound hit and the pain in his thigh told him it wasn’t good. He couldn’t stop though. Had to get away of the pain would end. Pain was living.

With one more sharp kick the kid was shoved backwards and with a flail of his arm something lodged out of Ian’s leg. 

The sword.

Fuck.

The kid hit the ground and rolled just in time for the sword not to hit him directly. Once he was up again it was back to dogs at squirrels.  
______

On the other side of the woods Mickey was walking with a tiny blond backpack.

Yevgeny was a frail kid. Sneaky and incredibly smart but sickly and much smaller than his twelve years should have him. 

He didn’t know what it was but something about this kid had Mickey going soft. Between him and Ian it was becoming increasingly clear that his father’s attempts to make him cold weren’t as fruitful as he’d originally believed.

“We’re almost to the creek, kid. How’re you feelin?”

Yevgeny gave a slight whine like sound. He fell asleep again. Must’ve. 

“‘M okay. I’m sorry I fell again.” His voice sounded stronger than before. That was good. Meant his fever was starting to break.

“None of that. Ain’t yer fuckin’ fault you got sick, kid. Fuckers shouldn’t be sending kids who can’t even fuckin’ stay upright out into this shit anyways.” He knew he was grumbling. Mandy would tell him his grandpa was showing. Always comparing him to an old man. Bitch.

A soft giggle came from his back. Hot breath ghosting against his neck. “You sound like my Momma. She’d like you.”

“Yeah? Smart fuckin’ lady.”

He dropped their packs the second they reached the water and moved to set Yev down.   
The boy slid from him and sat on the edge. Mick crouched and felt at his clammy head. Yev’s eyes were hardly open and it was clear he was dizzy by how he was swaying slowly. 

He started to get the kid out of the jacket he threw over his wetsuit before unzipping the back and getting it down off his shoulders. He didn’t want to undress him entirely. They wouldn’t be able to move quickly if he did. But he needed to make sure the cold water could hit the kids skin. 

He slid Yev into the water and start to pour some from a bowl with his hands over his neck and back. The kid immediately began to relax. He started to wipe some over his face and through his hair, making the kid nearly purr as his pounding head and fever started to calm. His tiny body leaning back heavily against Mickeys chest.

Mickey had never considered himself anywhere near paternal before. Let alone even caring. But sitting here caring for this little boy, it felt as though he would do anything to keep him safe. He felt so connected to him and he didn’t know what it was. 

Soon Yevgeny fell asleep against him. Moving slowly and adjusted until the kid was resting back against the cool rock of the ledge by the creek. He had to get them food.

He quickly built a cover out of leave sticks and moss and covered the boy. Blocking him visually from anything that could come near. Hopefully this would ward off anyone that happened upon this side of the water.

He’d be quick. He had to be.

Grabbing his knife and a bag, he hid the rest of their packs and took off into the woods.


	10. Basic Instinct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sorry

Ian looked down over where the group of other tributes were sleeping, waiting to ambush him once he left the safety of the tree. He didn't know how he was going to but he knew he had to get around them and get away. His leg was injured. A good chunk missing from where the sword had hacked him. If he didn’t get it dressed or treated soon it was likely to become infected. Finding an escape, however, seemed like an unlikely feet all the way up here.

Then an idea hit him.

He dug into his bag until he found it. Flint. Quickly, wanting to be sure no one woke up before this was done, he gathered dry branches and leaves from the tree. He had one shot here and very little control. This would either work or just kill anyone not fast enough.

After a few worrisome strokes with no spark, he finally lit the brush. Before the flame grew he made sure to touch it to the dry bark of the tree before dropping it on the kids below. The flames spread quickly and as they woke to their legs being covered, their screams blended with the whining of the tree as its trunk gave way to the flame.

A few were running, literally fueling the flames encasing their bodies. Others, the smart ones, were rolling in the grass. Only it was too dry to not catch. Perfect. If they didn’t die they’d sure as hell be injured by the time the flames stopped.

Ian had to move. The tree was beginning to lean. He got up as much as he could and squared off to jump, but his leg gave and soon he was falling.

Down goes baby, cradle and all.  
–––-–

Mickey grins as he stands up with two large hares he managed to score. He’d be able to give yev the nice plump one. Feed the skinny thing a good meal for once. Smoke the meat so it lasts.

He hoped the fever was down by the time he reached him. If they were gonna avoid others they had to keep moving.

Birds flew over head squawking loud as they went. Looking up, he could see smoke filling the sky in the distance. A large fire. Either someone didn’t manage to put theirs out or they used it to fight. Poor fuck must’ve gotten screwed either way.

Picking up the pace, he moved towards the creek until he heard the worst possible sound.

Screaming.

Loud and panicked screaming was coming from where he’d left Yevgeny. The screaming was hoarse but unmistakable in it’s calls of, “Mickey! Mickey, please!”

He took off in a dead sprint. The pounding of his heart hitting just as loud as the screams. Across the creek was some fuck dragging Yevgeny in a hunting net. Laughing as he tortured the poor baby. He was dragging him over every possible jump and stone. Yev’s thrashing and screams getting worse with each bounce.

Mickey saw red.  
––––

Somehow Ian managed to land on another kid. Luckily one that hadn’t been engulfed in flame at the time. The tree had fallen with him and crushed a good number of those after him. He rolled off and grabbed the sword from the now corpse and dragged himself as far as he could before using the sword like some strange crutch.

He had to get away before the flames spread or the smoke attracted others. Best they come across the dead than him.

His years of hunting back home, along with his training, was going to benefit him now. He moved as quick as he could towards the water central to the arena. Staying just far enough back that he wouldn't lose tree cover, he moved up stream. Going this way he’d avoid a watering hole that’d attract others. When the sounds of rushing water grew louder and louder he knew he was heading the right way.

Sure enough, he found a waterfall. He moved quick. Desperate to get into water, clean his wounds and sooth the burns on his hands. He searched around quickly to be sure the coast was clear before scampering under the rushing water. He reached to lean into the falls but his hand grasped nothing. Instead he pushed through as was welcomed by the sight of a very well hidden cave.

With the last bit of energy he could muster, he lugged himself into the cavern. He leaned heavily against the cool stones of the wall and looked out towards the falls. He’d be able to see figures easily that came by here and with crayfish easily caught and shelter with the cave he’d found the perfect spot.

Finally he could breathe. Finally he let his guard lower and focus on licking his wounds.  
––––

Mickey moved like a pitbull.

This kid fucked with the wrong sweet boy and made a fatal mistake. He tackled him full on, forcing him to release Yevgeny who was now sobbing as he called for help.

The kid below him was spry. In a flash of dark skin his fist nearly connected with Mickey’s jaw, but he clearly didn’t realize who he’d pissed off.

Baring his teeth at the guy below him Mickey saw the flash of horror when he was finally recognized. Quickly the look was cover with determination. But, in a swift move Mickey managed to roll the guy into a pin and snap his leg right at the knee.

A blood curdling scream filled the space around them and Mickey was about to keep going until he heard a choke and gurgle from Yev. A sound that meant nothing good.

He shoved away from the boy and spat on him as he tried to drag himself away with a bum leg and moved quickly to scoop the small blonde in his arms.

Yevgeny was on his knees. Looking at Mickey in horror as he clutched at his tiny chest. His wetsuit still undone and around his skinny shoulders like Mickey had left him. Big baby blue eyes staring at Mickey like he could fix this.

When his tiny hand moved to look at the puddle of blood it held, Mickey was able to see.

A hunting trap. One built to stake larger animals once they hit the trigger. Dead center in Yevgeny’s tiny body.

The fucker dragged him right over it.

He moved to Yev quickly and moved him to lay his head in his lap. He knew better than to try and remove the part of the trap that had broken off inside the boy. Instead he tried to stuff up the wound. Curb the bleeding. Anything to keep this child with him.

He hasn’t been this desperate since his mother died.

Yevgeny was looking up at him with big, wet eyes. “M-Mickey?”

“Shhh...shhh kid, you’re okay. You’re fine. S’just a fuckin’ flesh wound y’know? Fuckin’ nothin’.” He didn’t believe a word he was saying. Could hear the fear in his own voice and knew Yevgeny could too but he couldn’t stop the lies from falling out.

Yevgeny whispered weakly, “You have to win. Fix this. Win”

Mickey stroked his hair back, trying hard not to sob as he looked down at this boy he felt so drawn to. Felt like he’d finally found some good. He was fading. Could see it as the color left his already fair skin.

Softly, in mumbles, he could hear a familiar tune coming from the boy. 

He was singing.

Yevgeny was weakly singing a painfully familiar song to himself in Russian. The language he’d told Mickey his mother had spoken to him for years. 

Mickey knew the tune. Knew it in his mother’s tongue of Ukrainian. The Hanging Tree. A song his father had slapped her for teaching the kids. One he later learned was the song of revolution.

A song that Yevgeny now used for comfort.

Without even thinking, Mick began to sing. Russian and Ukrainian mixing together in an oddly haunting way as they sang the song of a secret. Slowly, softly, they both slipped to english. Singing together until all Mickey could hear was himself.

Are you? Are you?

Are you?!

He curled over the tiny body, choking on the pain of this sweet, innocent soul leaving him. He stroked at Yevgeny’s face. The same way he’d seen a dog do to her pup in hopes that, somehow, it’d wake up again. 

Then he looked up. 

The kid who’d done this just a couple yards from him now.

Mickey’s mind went blank.

He wasn’t seeing red. Wasn’t hearing blood racing. Nothing.

He gently set Yevgeny aside and strode towards the boy, picking up a heavy stone on his way.

He kicked the boy over onto his back and sank down onto him so he was now straddling a squirming waste.

Begging.

Distantly he heard the kid begging him.

Yevgeny had begged.

Slam.

He brought the stone down hard against the kid’s face. The boy’s arms flying up in defense, but it hardly stopped him. He kept smashing. Felt the skin split. Felt bone shattering. Soon he felt muscle give way as tho he were simply hammering at hard earth to plant flowers in spring.

Splash.

Blood sprayed up over his skin. The kid was no longer fighting. No longer begging. 

He kept going.

A hit for every lyric.

A broken bone for every broken heart.

A death for Yevgeny.

He went until the stone crumbled to dust.

Dropping his arm he now saw there was no longer a face. Just a blood filled bowl attached to a neck.

He felt nothing.


	11. Give Me Shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letting go of Yevgeny brings back memories and Mick refuses to let Ian be alone now

Mickey climbed off a now lifeless, faceless body and moved to scoop Yevgeny up into his arms. He carried him over to the creek and wiped him down with the water as he cradled him like a baby. He wanted to get this dirt off of him. Wanted to get the sin of the games off the skin of this sweet boy.

Once he was as clean as he could be, he fixed his suit and carried him to a field filled with the prettiest flowers he could find. Gently, he laid the boy down and went to find the best flowers that he could. Setting them around Yev and some pretty blue ones in his small now stiff and cold hands. 

The last time he’d prepared a body he’d been a child.

His mother had been laid gently on a hard decorated table. Her dark hair haloing her head as though she were floating. She’d looked like she was sleeping. Far different from the way he’d found her; wide eyed and bruised laying on her side where she’d been thrown. Treated like a ragdoll that a spoiled child no longer could be bothered with.

He’d stolen flowers from the nursery in town. Put them in her fingers to hide the way her ribs were angled. Mandy had powdered her face to hide the dark marks-a trick she’d use later on herself.

She’d looked as good as they could get her. But nothing was beautiful about death. Even now, looking down at the cherub-like child, Mickey couldn’t find the sense of peace he’d heard comes with a burial. He saw nothing but hate and cruelty hidden amongst the daisies.  
–––

Numbly he began to move. He’d burned Yevgeny. Like hell was he going to leave the boy for the capitol to use further.

But the fire had to be large and he knew it would attract others so he couldn’t stay. There was no mourning in war.

He went upstream. Knew from his years trained to kill that it’d be the same thing Ian would have always been taught to do. Knew if he thought like a regimented soldier or, at the very least, a seasoned hunter he’d no doubt run into his teammate.

As he got closer to where the creek’s tide ran faster he started to notice small splashes of blood.

There was no guarantee this meant Ian, but it was best to find an enemy before they found him. Injured animals were the most dangerous of all.

He eventually came up to a waterfall. He began eyeing the area, looking for any sign of another tribute. The coast seems clear. He moves closer to the fall figuring he can at least take the time to rinse off the dirt, sweat and blood and refill his canteen.

Before he knew what was happening, a hand was tight on his wrist and he was passing through the falls.  
-–––

Ian saw a shadow outside the water. He was in no shape to fight so surprise was his only chance. He grabbed his knife and readied himself. If he was lucky whoever it was would simply grab water and leave. But the shadow kept coming closer until he was able to make out the entire silhouette.

He snapped his hand out and grabbed the first thing he could. Got lucky and snagged a wrist. With a tug he fell back and swept his good leg under the falling person, flippin them and getting over them with their arm locked painfully and his knife to their throat.

“Mickey?”

No way. No fucking way.

The brunette huffed and glared up to him with the indignance that didn’t normally come with the possibility of death.

“Mind getting the fuck off me? You’re fuckin’ heavy, Mission Impossible” Ian’s heart warmed at the use of a nickname.

With a slight struggle, he hobbled off and drug himself back to leaning against the wall again. Mickey frowned and eyed him until his sight landed on his stiff leg. It was infected. Ian knew it was and had been draining it as often as possible to keep it from spreading. Better to lose part of his leg than his actual leg, right? 

Mickey moved to his side quickly, crouching and looking between him and his leg until Ian moved it a slight bit closer to give him permission. Mick moved his clothing as much as possible and frowned at the gash. “Sword?” He looked up to him that permanent frown etched into his face. At his nod Mickey went back to looking, “Infections localized at least. Smart move opening it. Gonna need medicine though and it’s clear you can’t walk to the supply drop.”

“Fucking death trap, more like it.” Ian sighed and leaned his head back. “Keep getting fevers. I haven't left this cave in days man. Probably wouldn’t even make it past the creek if I tried.” He hated being this negative but he felt hopeless. For the first time he truly felt stuck, defeated.

“Bullshit.” Mickey’s voice pulled him back from his head and the look of heat in his eyes gave Ian a slight jolt. “You’re stubborn as shit, Gallagher. If anyone’s makin’ it out of this it’s your dumbass.” He sniffed and wiped his nose. Nervous. Mickey was nervous?

Ian looked at him worriedly, “Mickey?” When the boy wouldn’t look at him he sighed and laid back again. “I’m sorry I...I know you hate me asking, hate me even fuckin’ talkin’ to you but-”

Mickey cut him off with a hand over his mouth and he was close, very close. Blue eyes boring into him with a heat Ian knew better than most. A heat he never expected to get from Mickey. His stomach rolled. Flipped in the way it does when butterflies take over.

“Stop talking.” He kept his eyes on him. Searched Ian’s face for something. Something he must’ve seen because soon he replaced his hand with his own mouth. Forgetting the cameras.


	12. Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some semi-fluff before we get back to the regularly scheduled violence and totally not happy fic stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: depictions of homestyle medical injury

Ian couldn’t believe what was happening. Mickey’s lips were chapped but warm. The kiss hardly lasted and when Mickey pulled back their lips stuck slightly and his eyes were still closed. He looked so at ease.

When his eyes fluttered and looked back to Ian, Ian felt his heart stutter. Even covered in mud and stains from dried blood, this boy was gorgeous. Soft in a way most would never expect from a Milkovich. 

Who could blame him when he reached out and pulled him in for more? A gentle hand on the back of Mickey’s neck had the boy scooting closer and Ian nearly growled at how quickly he submitted. They let their mouths work together for a moment before Mickey pulled away again, this time moving to sit with Ian.

He was quiet for a long moment, long enough Ian was starting to think he was going to run but then he spoke, “You talk too much, y’know.” He looked to Ian again, finally, “I ain’t leavin’ this arena without you okay? Fuck what’s expected of my stupid dad’s reputation. They’re killin’ kids man. Fuckin’ sick kids. I ain’t gonna be a part of this anymore.” He sniffed and wiped hard at his nose, a tell for anyone who knew him. 

Ian looked all over him. Mickey was so open right now. He was acting like the guy he’d gotten small hints of over the course of this entire horror show. “You kissed me.” Idiot. That’s seriously all he could come up with? Maybe Mickey’d do him a favor by off-ing him.  
Mickey snorts a laugh and looks at him with an arched brow, “And you’re leg looks like it’s turnin’ green. We pointing out obvious shit or do you got a point there?” He looked away again, chewing his lip. 

Ian smiled that dopey grin he knew he got when he was smitten. Cute. Mickey was cute as hell-in that “I’ll kill you if you say it out loud” sort of way. “Why?”

Mickey huffs and looks at him again, “Wanted to. Now are we gonna sit here and gab about of feelings like a couple’a queens or are we gonna get that leg taken care of?”

_____

Later Mickey was sitting back as Ian finished the food he managed to snag them. They’d started a small fire, the falls and the cave able to hide it from anyone else, making this the best spot in the arena. Leave it to Gallagher to find it.

They’d heard many shots already tonight. If Mickey was right there were only three left outside of them. He’d wait until the odds were better. He could win a one on one, probably even take down two, but Ian was hardly able to move right now and he couldn’t put him at risk by making him join in a fight or having him stuck alone.

“You’re thinking really loud.” Ian’s staring at him. No longer eating and the warmth from the fire showing how pale he is. Paler than usual.

“Tryin’ to think how we’re gettin’ outta this, man. Not like you can fight.” Mickey eyed his leg with arched brows to make his point, hardly surprised when Ian put his chin out stubbornly. 

“I can fight just fine. Not like a fuckin’ cut to the leg has me dying.” He was pouting. Fucker was actually pouting right now.

Mickey rolled his eyes, “Idiot. You’re leg’s infected and you’re sweating in a cave, behind water, at night.” He moved over to his side and cupped Ian’s clammy cheek, “Look. I don’t doubt you, okay? But I ain’t gonna fuckin’ sacrifice yer ass either.” He felt his heart lerch when their eyes met. Ian always had him weak. Those big green eyes looking at him in a way he’d never grow accustomed to. Looking at him like he was worth something. He couldn’t stop the smile that hit his face. “Gotta drain your leg though. Gonna lose the thing if we don’t”

Ian nods and leans his head back. He’d only ever drained so much of it when alone. He knew with mick this would be harsher. He’d be able to get deeper. He kept his eyes on Mickey as he rolled up his sleeves and put his knife into the flame just long enough to sanitize it before moving back and sitting on his legs to keep them still.

“Sit on your hands.” He pulled his belt off to have Ian bite, but moved closer first, “I’m gonna do this as fast as I can, okay? You just gotta stay quiet for me, okay?” He let his eyes search Ian’s. The trust there had him kissing the boy again without a thought. He was quickly becoming addicted to kissing him.

Ian smiled slightly into the touch before giving Mickey’s lip a gentle suck as he pulled back and gave him a nod to start. Mickey gently slid the belt into his mouth before getting to work. Careful, wanting to only touch what he needed. He could hear Ian swallowing the pain but the second he started to open the wound infection began to pour out. 

“Fuck.” It smelled. This was bad. He had no idea how deep it was but he knew it wasn’t coming out fast enough. With an apologetic look he stuck the knife back in and scraped. Ian was shaking making louder grunts and whines as it set shocks through his body. Now he couldn’t see a difference between infection and blood. So, he did the only thing he could think of.

He sucked it out.

Bending over he put his mouth in the wound and slurped. It tasted like putrid egg and spoiled milk mixed with with strong iron only blood could give. Ian’s leg was shaking so he held it down as much as he could. Spitting mouthful after mouthful of pus out onto the cave floor. Finally, after a good dozen pulls, all he could taste was blood. He stood and wiped his mouth. Going back to the fire and setting the blade in it until it was reddened with the heat.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered before setting the blade to Ian’s would. Ian screamed around the belt, banging his head against the wall as his skin sizzled and the smell of char filled the cave and churned their stomachs. Mickey had to look away. Feeling sick seeing Ian like this.

He threw the knife once he was cauterized and pulled the belt from the redheads mouth, “Shh...shhh...I got you. I’m right here, Ian. ‘M right here.” He cupped his face as the boy shook. He was nearly grey with how much color he’d lost and covered in cold sweat. He grabbed his canteen. Rinsing his own mouth before putting it to Ian’s lips. “I got you… I got you. It’s gonna be okay, promise.”

Ian sipped at the water as much as he can before looking at Mickey as he panted. Mick poured water into his hand and ran it through his hair then patted his cool, damp hand on his neck then chest. He wanted to soothe him as much as he could. Mick smiled weakly when Ian made eye contact. He stroked his cheek gently before tying the belt to his thigh to hopefully keep it locked in place like a tourniquet. He tore off his own sleeves and rolled one before tying it down tightly to keep the wound covered. Then he was back to Ian’s side and moving to hold him close, letting him lay against his chest instead of the stone of the cave. Ian looked up to him, still pain stricken but, doing better.

Mickey stroked his hair back and kissed his forehead. Fucker has him going soft. The worst of it was he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“I knew you were nicer than you tried to be.” Ian grinned slightly despite the obvious residual pain.

Mickey smiles and strokes his cheek gently, “Yeah, yeah and you tell anybody I’ll feed you to wolves.”

Ian grinned, “Yeah, sure.” He pressed his lips to Mickey’s again, this time letting them both get lost in it.


	13. Victors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had to split this chapter it was just gettig way too big so sorry that the ending is kinda meh

Early into the next morning Mickey was woken up by the distant blast of the cannons and music playing to announce another death. Ian was snoring softly against his chest where he’d stayed since Mickey had carved open his leg.

It sounded like two were down. That left them and the one from North. It was time to end this.

Gently he moved Ian to lay back against his pack, stroking his hair back gently and kissing him softly. He felt himself nearly glow when Ian smiled in his sleep from the peck. Grabbing his knife and his bladed brass knuckles he moved out from around the falls, going far enough from the cave that Ian would stay safe and lit a fire. The smoke would draw the guy to him. Saving his energy by being able to lay in wait.

Moments later his plan worked and a throwing knife landed right next to him. Calmly, he turned to face the guy. He was huge, muscular and clearly just as ready to be done as Mickey. He looked wired. 

This was bad. A cornered, injured animal would be unhinged. But Mickey had grown up fighting his brothers. Spent years where his dad had him up against all four. He could do this. 

The North lunged and Mickey used it to his advantage, swinging out with his fist, slicing his cheek open. The kid roared in rage and came at him again, the scythe in his hand nearly grabbing Mickey’s middle. Mickey turned and kicked the boy back hard with a boot to the chest.

“C’mon Milkovich. You not gonna come at me, you rat? Fucking protecting that redheaded fag, huh? How’s his leg? He like my little gift I gave him? Fucker thought he could steal my sword and burn us alive. Thought he’d get away with it. Boy on fire, my dick.” The guy growled. The words having Mickey notice the healing licks of fire on his neck and exposed skin. If he aimed for where the wetsuit was damaged he’d do more damage. Strike an injury like you would the soft belly.

Again, the guy came at him, this time MIckey couldn’t move quite fast enough and the kid’s blade sliced through his bared tricep. Splitting him like butter.

Mickey was pissed. He’d been shot twice by peacekeepers. Been beaten for years. A cut was nothing but an irritant. This time, he went forward. He swung wildly and nailed the kid but, the guy was fast and he got Mickey in a headlock. He could snap his neck at any moment and he tightened his arms to stop air from coming to him easily.

“Not so tough are ya?” The guy growled low in his ear, “Knew you’d be the weakest of that shit family of yours. Knew the second you got in with that redhead you’d go weak. Fag it up like some freak.” Mickey choked slightly and swung his arm down to stab the kids thigh but it made him twist his head, popping something in his neck. He could feel his muscles straining. “Careful. Think I’m gonna be that easy? You’re done Milkovich. And once I’m done with you, gonna find that little twink of yours and I’m gonna be sure he dies slow. Just like that little kid you teamed up with. Yevgeny right?”

MIckey’s eyes brimmed with white hot tears. He’d lost. He’d tried to keep his promise to Yev and win. He’d tried to protect Ian. He’d gone against everything his father had ever trained him to be and now he was going to die for it.

Just as he felt the guy turn his head a bit more, there was a slice right by his ear. The sound similar to a blade going through fruit in the summer. Then the boy was falling. His hands dropping from him and before Mickey could even register it, his head rolled by his feet. He spun.

Standing there, pain stricken and gripping a bloodied sword, was Ian. His Ian.

Ian was panting and he looked from the sword to Mickey his legs shaking hard, “You good?”

Mickey moved quick, grabbed Ian just as he nearly toppled over. “Idiot. Why didn’t you stay in the cave?” He sounded far less angry than he’d expected.

Ian grinned up to him weakly, “Let you have all the fun? C’mon.”

A cannon popped and quickly the all too familiar voice surrounded them. Announcing this years victors. Congratulating them on a game well played.

Ian leaned into Mickey heavily, he was hotter than before. The fever worsening and just as the plane came down to take them out of the arena he collapsed into Mickey’s arms.  
______  
Mickey’s sitting not so patiently as some white donned lady stitches his arm closed. They’d already nearly drowned him with a fire hose and and made him down so much medication his body could be a pharmacy. No one has told him where Ian was, if he was okay. A couple Avoxes were standing around waiting on them and one was looking at him more than the others. Something they could be killed over, so he tried not to draw attention to her. She was extremely young, maybe a couple years younger than his sister. A child.

The lady in white finally walks away and he’s just about to go to the Avox when Kevin is coming into the room with a big grin on his dopey face. “Mickey! Congratulations man!” He sounded excited, joyful in a way that only the capitol could, but the second he was close to him he leaned in and whispered in his ear, “glad you made it out. Gonna get you ready for this last interview. Stay strong. It gets ugly.” He pulls back with that bright eyed grin, as though he said nothing negative at all.

He followed Kevin to the dressing rooms and allowed the giant of a man begin to dress him, putting him in this sparkling Knight-like suit of silvers and draping deep reds and plums. He put his hair up out of his face and lined his eyes in a deep kohl. Kevin stood back a bit and looked at him with his large hands on his shoulders, “Go out there. Smile. Play their game. I know you just came back from something awful. We’re not supposed to talk to you like this and trust me I know Vee is saying the same thing to Ian, woman’s braver than I am, but just let us help you.”

Mickey felt his heart skip, “Ian’s okay?”

Kev grinned and gave his back a pat, “Yeah, lover boy. C’mon he’s right through here.”

Once Kev opened the door he saw Ian. Standing with a crutch clipped right above his elbow and dressed in the same as Mick but with golds and his signature fire tones. The tight leather of his pants showed the warped shape of what was once a meaty thigh. Clearly they had to remove a lot of his leg to heal him. Vee had put tons of makeup on him, trying hard to masc his sick pallor, but all Mickey could see was him. His beautiful firey boy. Up and alive.

Ian turned to face him, a large grin splitting his face wide open. That stupid, goofy smile Mickey had come to love more than anything over these last few months.

Like magnets they were drawn to each other. Ian hobbling towards him as Mickey closed the distance with a couple large strides and crashed his lips into Ian’s. Fuck Kev and Vee being right there. Fuck being in the capitol. Fuck everything. He’d thought he’d lost him and none of this had ever been for the camera’s to begin with. 

Ian brought his hand up to grip Mickey’s head as he ate at his mouth just as hungrily. Heaven was kissing Ian and Mickey’s body was only just beginning to crave more. They pulled back when the remembered their audience and just looked at each other. Ian was the one to break the silence.

“I’m so glad that I found you.”

The sincerity in his voice had Mickey’s throat locking up. Not one person had ever been grateful for him before. He held the side of Ian’s face looking at him with wet eyes before stepping back. It was time for the interview and he wasn’t yet prepared.

An Avox came over to them, the same young girl that had stared at Mickey in the infirmary, and led them towards the stage. She kept her head low and hands folded in front of her. Mickey had heard about these girls, “perfect partners” according to his father. “Can’t say a damn stupid thing” he used to joke after a good couple glasses of whiskey. Mickey had learned later it was because they had their tongues removed. A punishment from the capitol. They hadn’t been with them on travel. Easier to watch them here he supposed.

He was pulled from his thoughts as he heard the crowd from the stage they were ushered towards. They walked out and the crowd went ballistic, lights bright in their eyes as they went to the front. This time, Mickey willingly took Ian’s hand and raised it in victory.

His heart was racing as they sat down and the reality of this whole thing having been filmed kicked in. 

He looked at the plastic face of the orange man before him and barely heard anything beyond the screaming. He wasn’t good at this wasn’t charismatic or likable like Ian was. He could fight any war they threw him in but this one, the political war of fancy words and charm.

“Huh?” He heard the crowd laugh when his obvious lack of listening was revealed.

The plastic man grinned in a way Mickey was shocked his face could still move, “I asked how it felt to be a victor.”

“Uhm, honestly I’m just glad I ain’t dead man.” He sniffed, his leg was kicking. He hated all of this.

The crowd laughed until they announced a “best of” scene play and has the video reel play Mickey felt his body go cold. It was everyone’s deaths. The crowd was fucking cheering. They clapped and whistled as Ian burned alive kids his age just to get away. Cheered im hollars as Mickey turned a kids face into a cup of blood.  
When they played Yevgeny’s death and the crowd cheered and ‘awed’ like it was some sad scene he nearly broke. His eyes were filling with tears. He’d never been so grateful as when Ian set his large hand on his bouncing thigh, grounding him, soothing him.

The next question had the crowd silent.

“This scene, how truthful was it?” They played Mickey kissing Ian in the cave. Mickey felt his stomach turn to ice and jump to his throat. It got on camera. On TV. Everyone saw.

Ian was looking at him. Clearly letting him answer. Giving him the out.

Fuck it.

“Completely. I’m fuckin’ gay.”


	14. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys continue on their victory lap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this half took so long I ended up dying with toxic shock from burning 90% of my face but I have returned!

Mickey was panicking. He just did that. On television. On the only channel the entire country saw, was forced to watch. That means his dad. His family. They’ve all seen. All heard him admit that he’d forgotten the cameras. Forgotten that the entire damn thing was seen as entertainment. As if everything had been a joke. Ian’s leg. Yevgeny. They meant nothing to these people.

Caught mid-pace, Mickey sighed as Ian’s hands cupped his face. He looked up to Ian who looked just as wild as him. 

“Please tell me you didn’t do that for me. Tell me that wasn’t for me.” He looked so shocked that Mickey had come out. Risked so much on live television.

Mickey shook his head, “I’ve wanted to kiss you since we were kids in South.” He looked up into those green eyes he’s fallen for so entirely. “I was serious. Forgot we were on tv. I mean c’mon, can’t say you weren’t more focused on living.”

Ian nods his eyes wet as he held onto Mickey. Mickey put his hands over Ian’s wrists, just needing the connection. Mickey’s heart was still racing so many things about what just happened running through his mind. He came out. He watched himself murder a child. Watched Yevgeny die. Listened to the crowd cheer, like it was just some fucking character. Some actor, pulling at heartstrings for some connection. 

Ian’s thumb was on his cheek, wiping away wet. He was crying. Like a giant baby. 

Letting out a breathless laugh he just looked to Ian again, “They laughed. They all fucking cheered while he died. Acted like….like he meant nothing.”

Ian looked at him clearly concerned, “Yevgeny?” He’d seen the kid before. Saw him during training and dinners. He’d been sickly and horribly quiet. Everyone had ignored him. But now, thinking about what he knew about Mickey, it wasn’t surprising to him that he’d cared for the boy.

When Mickey nodded, Ian pulled him tight to his chest, leaning on his good leg as he cradled his head to his shoulder letting him cry for a moment before whispering, “Let’s go to our room. Get away from cameras.”

Mickey nodded, it would be bad for Victors to show weakness, worse for one that’s gay. 

______

Once back in their own space-the apartment like room they had in the capitol-Mickey just sat on the first bed. He felt numb. Having seen Yevgeny die all over again, hearing everyone see it like some joke. He was barely kid. More baby than anything.

When Ian hobbled to stand in front of him he just fell forward into him and gripped his hips. “I couldn’t protect him. C-couldn’t help him.”

Ian stroked his hair back gently, “Hey...hey Mickey.. I know, okay? But had you made it to the end with him he would had to have killed you or you him. You’re from different districts. They barely even like there being two victors like with us.”

Mickey pulls back and looks to him, rage and tears filling his eyes, causing Ian to stumble the last half foot to sit next to him on the bed and pull him close. “I hate them. This whole thing. This entire fucking game.”

Ian kisses his head, “Then we change it. We fight back. Tell the truth.” He leaned back to look at Mickey’s face, “We tell them about Yevgeny. About who he was, what he wanted to be. Make them realize we’re just children.”

“Good way to become Avoxes.” He grumbled. The Victors could only do so much. Most vanished from the capitol and their districts, some lived low in the capitol and then some became like Youens. Owned by the capitol, part of the games and drinking away any possible memory that managed to come through.

Ian knew Mickey was right. He’d seen enough go wrong, learned about the inner workings of the capitol when training to be a peacekeeper. He knew that Mickey needed to let go. Needed to get something out. “Tell me about him...Yevgeny.”

Mickey looked up, shocked for a moment, before melting into a sad but loving smile. He spent the next hour or so just telling Ian about the boy that made him decide to stop hiding.  
____

They fell asleep in the same bed that night. Shared the same bed even on the train, in the reverse of the hotel room, as they toured the districts to greet everyone as the victors. Many places clapped robotically. Some caused tension with boos. Ian had an entire cabbage thrown into his face in the North. Mickey had barely caught him as it stumbled him on his crutch. In the East they were given the three finger salute. The space there was entirely trashed. Mickey discovered later it was because the entire district had revolted when they witnessed Yevgeny’s death. Had seen him get treated well in his last moment. The song they had shared had inspired the old heat of revolution to course through them. He nearly fought the soldiers that had their guns on many of the people. 

Every night, they found themselves back in each other’s arms. Completely ignoring the other bed. The first few times Mickey noticed the shock in Ian when he immediately went to nuzzle into his chest at night but he quickly came to expect it. Sometimes he even stayed awake until Mickey was securely in his arms. 

They’d helped each other through nightmares, Ian feeling himself burning while Mickey watched children die-one where Yev and his sister became one in the same. Mickey held Ian when his leg would spasm and put him through strange fits of numbed pain. Got used to when silence was needed while one cried. Ian stayed awake many nights just listening to Mickey cover his mouth while he sobbed, thinking he was asleep, only to roll over and hold him impossibly closer.

Then the day came for their district. Going home. Seeing their families. Their childhood homes. Terry. 

Stepping out into the backstage space they could already smell booze and squalor of South. Ian limped a bit as he stepped forward on his crutch. Both were dressed in more capitol-ized versions of the outfits their families had put them in for the reaping. Mickey in a now shiny black button up with metal tips to the collar, Ian dressed in an evergreen flannel and tight black pants. Ian expected to be alone for this. To have to silently watch Mickey suffer through his father but, he was blown away when Mickey came up next to him.

And took his hand.

Mickey wrapped their fingers together and stayed looking forward with a determined lick of his lips. Ian felt himself come alive and calm all at the same time. When they stepped out onto that stage it felt like he was home. Not because he could hear the cheers that could only come with kids coming home, but because his home had become Mickey.


	15. Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is mainly smut *shrugs*

Ian was pulling back from Fiona’s arms when he saw the giant that was Terry Milkovich enter the room. Mickey, who was speaking softly to his sister, stiffened as though he was looking directly at a demon. In a way, that was probably true.  
Ian hobbled the quick few steps to Mickey’s side but stopped when the brute just got in his son’s personal space, “You’re lucky you’re a famous fucking victor now, bitch. The second I can, you’re dead.” He gave him a none too gentle pat to the cheek before moving along with his brothers.

Mickey stood his ground despite how his hands were trembling.

Mandy looked at him with apologetic eyes before following her dad and father out of the building. Mickey stayed still, understanding that she had to show unfelt loyalty. Ian glanced to his family motioning to Lip and Fi to give them a moment. Lip gave a nod before helping Fi heard the kids out.

“Mick?”

Mickey snapped out of his blank stare and turned to Ian, nearly melting at the sight. He stepped close to him, needing the comfort, but didn’t quite touch him. Just looked up into his eyes. 

Ian leaned heavily on his crutch and cupped Mickey’s cheek, “Let’s go to our room. Get some rest.”

Mickey simply nodded and walked slowly by his side.

Once in their room he shuffled out of the stupid outfit the capitol chose for him. He slid the shirt off his shoulders and nearly missed the sharp inhale from Ian behind him. Turning over his shoulder he saw him standing there by the door, staring. Looking over the scars on his back, old injuries from his father and peace makers alike. He never had the reputation to behave.

Ian limped towards him, leaning the crutch against a dresser. He slowly reached out a hand and ran light fingertips over the lines of the lash marks. Mickey let his head drop with a sigh. The scars were numbed in their raised state, some had been opened deep enough Ian’s fingertips slipped into the divots. 

“Who did this?” Ian’s voice was weak, broken in a way it hurt Mickey more than any lashing.

“Don’t ask questions you know the answers to.” He dropped his arms, head hanging. 

Ian’s hand fell from his back but before MIckey could turn his lips were touching over the scars. Just gentle worshipping brushes, before his mouth was on his neck. Turning, Mickey put those lips to work on his own. Ian kissed him differently than any girl he’d ever brought home to appease his father. His face was rougher with the couple days he’d go between shaving. His lips were chapped, different from the stick of the gloss the girls were prone to wearing. It was better. Better in every way, and when his large hands came up to grip his face, calloused thumbs stroking his cheekbones, Mickey knew now more than ever that this is what he wanted. Who he wanted.

He started undoing the buttons of Ian’s shirt slowly, their jaws working against one another. Ian licking over his lip in question before Mickey gave a gently flick of his tongue to welcome him in. Coaxing him to kiss deeper. He felt his eyes roll, despite already being closed, at the taste of Ian. He pushed the shirt off his shoulders, Ian moving his hands just long enough to let it drop to the ground. 

He turned Ian, moving his back to the bed they shared and gently pushed him so he fell back. He watched as the redheads muscles moved as he pulled himself up more on the mattress. His lips were parted, swollen and blushed from kissing. His eyes were dark and lidded as he looked up to Mickey. It was like staring down at priceless art.

With a lick to his own swollen lips, MIckey moved to climb over him, latching his lips back to Ian’s and loving when his hand immediately went to the back of his neck, playing with dark hair. He started moving down his jaw, mouthing at Ian’s throat and revelling in the way he sighed and let his head fall back.

Ian was like a marble sculpture, built like an adonis but with this softness that only art could have. He placed open mouthed kisses over his chest and stomach, moving to lick over his ribs and suck a mark. Ian let out a pleased breath. His body gave a soft shiver. Mickey went until he was flicking his tongue near the top of his pants, dragging his lips over his stomach in a way that had Ian shivering. He flicked his eyes up to look at him, Ian giving him a nod and he worked on getting Ian’s tight pants off. He felt his breathing catch at the sight.

Ian might have a baby face but there was absolutely nothing childish about him being naked. Mickey couldn’t help but stare. Then he looked up to Ian’s face, there was a soft flush making his freckles pop more on his cheeks. He lifted his eyes to look at Mickey with an innocence that nearly had Mickey growling. He slid down and licked at his hip, Ian’s legs opening slightly on instinct. Mickey flicked his eyes up as he kissed down his muscular thigh.

Once he reached near his knee he stopped, pulled back to look at the scar on his otherwise flawless leg. His skin was twisted like a knot in a tree. The scar nasty looking and taking out a good portion of the muscle there. Leaving him looking broken in a way Mickey hated seeing on him. Ian was turned away slightly when Mickey looked back up. Clearly Ian was upset by this injury, seeing it as weakness, a flaw. The pain it brought him hurt more than the wound itself. 

Like in the arena, Mickey brought his lips to his thigh. This time, instead of sucking at the skin to help heal him, he was leaving marks. He felt Ian’s eyes on him. Could tell he couldn’t feel directly on the scarring, but his nerves were raw around the edges and his thigh quivers when Mickey worked there. He kept going, nipping and sucking until he reached the junction between his thigh and hip, breathing in the heady scent of the man.

Ian was looking at him with so much heat that MIckey didn’t even think before wrapping his full lips around the head of his dick. Ian gasped, the surprise and pleasure clear. Mickey had never done this before. Never been with a man. But, the heaviness on his tongue as he sucked down more of Ian felt like something...right. Like he’d been made to have Ian look at him the way he was, have him breathing shakily when he hollowed his cheeks and pulled up with his mouth as tight as he could make it.

“Mickey.” Ian breathed his name like whispered worship and he felt it shudder through his body and electricity. 

He pulled off him with a gentle pop and licked up his abs, starting between his hips with the flat of his tongue before getting to just the tip near the top of his ribs. He made eye contact with Ian and they both seemed to lunge into the kiss, Ian moved to roll Mickey onto his back. Pushing up onto his arms enough to look at him. Mickey looking up with heated eyes. The silent emotions strong. Both could feel how fallen they were, but they stayed silent. Too afraid to say it aloud. 

Ian moved to take off Mickey’s pants, needing him to be as exposed as he was. Mickey lifted his hips to let Ian pull them from his legs. Ian whispered something between “beautiful” and a whimper once he had Mickey naked. 

Mickey had never felt this way and when Ian gripped him, slowly working his large hand over his length, a thumb running over his head, he felt like his whole body sparked. Boy on fire, indeed. 

“You’re beautiful.” Ian spoke soft, recently as he caressed him, loving on him as though he were the most holy of things.

“Looks who’s talking.” Mickey’s voice shuddered, sounding odd to his own ears. He arched up, begging Ian for more.

Ian had experience, he’d gotten into the peacekeeping training without money, after all. The talent showed when he took Mickey into his mouth. The entire thing resting heavily down into his throat.

Mickey gripped the sheets tight, not wanting to hurt him by jerking up. Ian kept going, eventually pulling Mick’s hands free and putting them on his head, groaning when his fingers gripped red hair. 

Ian slid his hands under Mick, gripping his ass tight, kneading the cheeks with his thighs heavy on his arms. Mickey nearly choked on his own spit. Ian continued until he was moving his mouth lower, sucking thickly on his balls, eyes looking up at him behind heavy lashes, but when ge licked over his hole Mickey lost it.

His whole body lit up at the odd but amazing feeling. He felt himself both jolt away and yank Ian closer, like he couldn’t pick which he wanted more.

Ian was undeterred. Instead, he went deeper. Sucking on him and licking heavily. Eating him out as though he were a starving man and Mickey were his favorite meal. Ian groan, savoring the taste and feel of the man he’d fallen for.

Mickey was soon shaking and leaking, whining in a way he’d be mortified by if it were anyone but Ian, if Ian weren’t wrecking him. 

Ian kept his mouth there, using more spit, and put his hand up to micks mouth. Mickey took a moment to understand, but quickly sucked down his fingers with a groan. 

Once Ian was satisfied he pulled both back. Mickey whined, a loud high-pitched sound that had him telling Ian to shut up when a smug grin took over his face. The emptiness didn’t last, soon he had Ian pushing a finger inside of him and he gasped. 

Ian leaned down to kiss him, soothe him as he started to pump the digit, soon adding another. Mickey was coming apart at the seems, writhing against Ian’s hand.

Ian whispered against his lips, “need the salve” before leaning back a bit. But, the weight on his leg had him shaking.

Mickey, through his haze, reached over into the drawer and pulled out the jar supplied by the capitol to keep Ian’s scar moisturized.

Ian took it pulling his fingers out to dip into the salve before going back to lube Mick up, stretching him the rest of the way.

Mickey was quivering, but he knew what he wanted. He slicked up a hand before wrapping it around Ian and started jerking him, determined to get him inside him sooner rather than later.

Ian groaned, dropping his head with a shiver. Then they were both pulling away, wiping their hands on the sheets before Ian moved over Mickey kissing him soft and deep.

Ian kicked a leg up over Ian’s hips, moving the other more to the side, desperate to have him deeper inside him, have him take him completely.

Mick stroked his finger gently down Ians jaw as they pulled back, looking at him as he held his face. They maintained eye contact as Ian pushed inside.

Mickey breathed in sharply, arching his back, but never looking away from this man he was falling for fast enough for it to be a spiral out of his control.

Ian pressed his forehead to Mickey’s, their breath mixing heavily between them as Ian bottomed out. They breathed hotly into each other mouths as Mickey adjusted to the burn. Then, Mick was kissing Ian again, and Ian began to move.

Slowly pushing his hips forward and after a few deep slides, the pain left and Mickey lets out a soft pant. Then Ian wiggled his hips and thrusted again.

Mickey saw stars.

His entire body was on fire and he started to moan, mewl directly into Ian’s mouth. Ian pulled back to watch him react, hitting that sweet spot on repeat as Mickey lost himself completely.

“Yeah?” Ian asked in a sound that had Mickey nodding and whining as Ian kept pulsing into him, completing him in a way he’d never experienced before.

Mickey could do nothing but nod as the heat built deep in his belly quickly shooting to his chest and lungs. His heart was pounding and all he could sense was Ian. Every sense taken over; his taste, smell. The way he was looking down at him and the way he sounded panting out his name and soft praises. The way he felt-oh god the way he felt. His leg was spasming from the strain but he went on, consuming Mickey- body and soul.

Then Mick was coming. His entire body was electrified and he couldn’t help but feel himself being handed over to Ian. Handing himself over glady. Ian’s face took on this beautiful look-somewhere between pleasure and pain- and soon he was praising Mickey’s name and filling him with warmth, completing him. 

The kisses for a long moment. Savoring each other as they came down from their highs and the sweat cooled on their skin. Ian laid next to Mickey once he was able to pull out, leg quivering. Mickey put a hand on it to soothe it and they just stared at each other, pants becoming one.

“What do we do now?” Ian whispered. Mickey knew what he was asking. Knew what they had done not only in the games but now-that falling in love-was going to get them killed.

“What we’ve always done.” Mick moved closer, speaking against Ian’s lips. “We fight.”


	16. Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Transitionary chapter but a cute one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Transitioning between the violence with hunger games js hard especially since I only saw the movies and they left out hella so I've been researching. Lemme know if anythings like stupid or just wrong

Youens walked into the main cabin early the next morning. Mickey was sitting back trying to pretend he wasn’t internally cringing at how Ian was hobbling about trying to make food for himself. He was juggling shit and nearly fell twice but Mickey knew better than to coddle him.

“Hey hobbles, c’mere.” Mickey nearly snarled at Youens’ drunken slur.

Ian gave him a deadpan look before limping over to sit.

“Nice hickies.” The old drunk commented and sipped his coffee, frowned, and poured the entirety of his flask into the mug.

“You wanna fuckin’ die?” Mickey growled over his own drink, barely even relaxing when Ian set a hand on his arm.

Youens seemed entirely unbothered as he continued to speak, “Your little stunt in the games and on the show directly after did a real good job pissin’ off the big wigs in the capitol. They’re talkin’ ‘bout making an example outta you. Teach what happens when you ignore their rules. You ain’t pinocchios, boys, you got strings.” He downed a good amount of his boozey caffeine before slamming the mug and leaning over the table, “Standing out gets people killed. Have you learned nothing from the games?!”

“Maybe we're sick of being goddamn puppets.” Mickey felt himself heating, fear turning to anger and his need to protect Ian turning to full blown rage.

Ian tightened his grip on his arm; always the calm one of the pair. Youens looked between the two, at Mickey’s glare and Ian’s dead stare, before scoffing and stumbling out of the cart.

“Could fucking gut that asshole.” Mickey hissed all the while feeling his hands relax.

Ian smoothed his hand over his arm gently and looked up to Mickey’s face, “Breathe. He’s drunk and pissed off that he didn’t have the balls to stand for himself.” He smiled gently when Mickey looked to him.

Mickey rolled his eyes and looked away before calming and looking back to him, “What do...What do you think they’ll do? To make examples of us?” He looked all over his face, needing Ian’s strength.  
_____

“Another games?!” Mickey was yelling. He couldn’t see straight as he paced their makeshift room. It’d been pinned on them out of absolutely nowhere, announced on live television, their reactions used for shock value to get them views. Like lives meant nothing more than ratings.  
Ian was sitting on what had become their bed, watching Mickey pace, trying to ignore the fear coiling in his own gut. “At least we get time, you know? See our families if we want, be together…” He looked to his hands uncomfortably.

“And what? The games start and I have to fucking watch you die? Ian you can barely fucking walk! Even you won’t be able to survive the game’s with only one good leg.” He looked so fucking destroyed that Ian felt as though he had nothing to fix this and hated himself for it.

“We’ll figure it out, Mickey. Hell, it might even help us. Underdogs and all the shit. We’ll get more sponsors if we’re pitied. Trust me I fucking hate being coddled as much as you, but if I gotta play up my injury instead of fight it then so be it.” 

Mickey sighed and moved close, sliding to straddle his lap and hold Ian’s face, “I can’t lose you, Ian.” He looked all over his face, his freckles, that mouth that he loved, the eyes that kept him grounded. He’d never needed someone the way needed Ian. 

Ian leaned into his hands, taking a moment to look at him in return before nuzzling into Mickey’s touch, “I won’t let you lose me. I’m gonna get through this with you, all of this.”

Mickey couldn’t help it and he surged forward, crashing his lips to Ian’s. He kissed him like he’d never be able to kiss him again. Ian laid back and pulled Ian closer to himself, sighing softly against his lover’s lips before pulling back to look at him, reassure him, “I’m never gonna leave you alone. Not unless you tell me to go.”

For the first time since his mother, since he was little enough to need a stuffed bear to sleep at night, for the first time since his father started to try and turn him into the same monster he was, he said the words he promised himself he’d never say again.

“I Love you.”

Ian breathed in sharply, staring like he couldn’t believe his own ears. So many emotions ran over his face. But, right when Mickey thought he made a mistake, his eyes brimmed with tears and he pulled him down closer, “I Love you too, Mickey.” 

That night they spent every hour together. Touching and speaking in ways neither boy ever imagined would be something they’d be allowed to experience. Mickey rode Ian until he couldn’t feel his body anymore, legs shaking hard as he went, desperate to have Ian feel everything he did. He wasn’t going into the games without Ian knowing he was right there by his side. 

Ian whispered praise to him the entire night, his hands sliding over his body slowly in complete worship, honoring the hard ridges and soft spots of Mickey’s body that had only ever been hit or abused. He touched the dark haired man bouncing slowly on his lap in ways he’d never let himself think he deserved before he met Ian. Ian treated him like he was made of moonlight and stardust, treated him like he was a priceless statue made from fragile glass. He’d never felt like he’d mattered this way before.

Mickey slid his hands up Ian’s stomach and chest, feeling his heartbeat strong and sure under freckled skin. If Mickey was the moon, Ian was the sun. Created from fire and hope like a fucking phoenix. Born from the destruction that surrounded Mickey and their shitty home and here to light the way to a better life, a world Mickey was convinced couldn’t exist.

Now, feeling himself lose all control with Ian inside of him, Mickey knew he’d found his strength. The strength to fight in another game, the strength to love Ian loudly, the strength to stand up to the capitol-his father. 

Ian was his hero. 

He planned to worship him as such.


	17. Whipped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey loses what luck he had

It was time to meet the new competitors, the other victors getting dragged back into this hell that Mickey and Ian had caused. Ian seemed nervous, he fought it hard, hid it well, but was clearly terrified that they had painted giant targets on their backs. Mickey knew to some this would be true, other’s-one’s that remembered the corruption-might be easier to sway. But, he was realistic, he knew he wouldn’t be able to make them be their friends but Ian could. Ian was likable, friendly, loving and beyond charismatic. If anyone could lead an uprising it was his boy on fire.

Ian was smoothing out his shirt in the mirror and he turned to Mickey, “How many victors do you think they’ll bring?”

“One from each district at least. Hopefully it’ll be ones that don’t agree with this bullshit.” He got up from where he was sitting, walking over to kiss him softly. “We’re gonna try and make allies, get out. The capitol wants a fight let’s give them one.”

Ian searched his eyes, shocked by how he was reacting, especially with how this used to be the boy so terrified to defy even his own father and now he was ready to take on the world-quite literally.

“Okay.”  
____

The old victors were to gather for a meal before they were to show their skill and receive their ranks. More bullshit for easy manipulation. It made it all the more complicated and that was the capitols entire plot.

For now, though, they were home with their families. Mickey was staying in the train car to avoid his father but spent as much time with both Ian and Mandy as he could. He needed to get his family cared for before he left again. He’d never tell Mandy, and especially not Ian, but he wanted his sister cared for if he didn’t manage to come home.

So, here he was, gathering things given to him from the capitol to sell so his sister could afford food. He had the basics, mostly bread and fruit-things he knew he’d be allowed to take. There was no reason to get his family in trouble for selling things that would really make a difference. He slung the bag over his shoulder and went to head to the lead peacekeepers house. He’d gotten out of a lot of trouble because of this man, trouble his father had thrown him into, so he knew selling to him would be the safest route. It’s not like anyone in the district could afford it. But when he got to the cabins the keepers stayed in, the leader was new.

“What do you want?” The gruff voice of the keeper standing before him growled out.

Determined, Mickey pushed, “I uh...I wanted to see if you’d be interested in buying some food.” He held the bag out to him.

The keeper took it and rummaged through it, “Fresh. Where’d you get these?”

“Own ‘em. Victor gifts. Figured I don’t need ‘em as much as people here do.” He swiped at his nose, knew something was up.

“So you stole ‘em?” He pulled out some of the game he’d added, “And this?”

“Hunted it. Caught it myself.” He glared slightly. Fuck him if he thought he’d scare him.

“So stealing and poaching, huh?” He set the bag aside.

“What? No. Fuck that, man. You don’t want it I’ll sell elsewhere.” He reached for the bag, but the second he did the keeper had him flipped, pinned and cuffed in a way that was all too familiar. Then he was being dragged, other keepers grabbing him as the lead shouted for aid in a trial. 

It all happened so quickly that by the time he was in the center of town he hardly knew what to do, to think. 

Nearly the entire district was out, forced to witness this like he had many times as a kid. He knew this game. He’d have no choice but to admit to guilt. There was no fair trial. Not here.  
______

Ian was rushing to the center of town. He’d heard about the trial as soon as everyone else, but he knew who it was. Knew it was Mickey the second he didn’t show up at the train car for dinner. He couldn’t move fast enough, his damn leg giving out as stumbled. He had to get to Mickey. Had to.

Mickey was there. Held by multiple guards despite him fighting. They were saying he stole, poached some poor animal and lifted off the capitol. A felony offense.

They shoved him towards the large pole in the center, Mickey struggling the whole way.

“Stop…” Ian’s voice wouldn’t work, wouldn’t let him get his vocal chords loud enough, “Stop fighting Mickey!” He shouted as loud as he could, knew if Mickey kept going it would get worse.

Mickey looked over his shoulder, saw Ian, but was shoved face first into the large column. He came back with a bloody nose and the soldiers started stripping his shirt, ripping it down the back as they tied him to it. Then it started. 

Crack after crack the new captain brought the leather of his whip down against Mickey’s back. With every snap Ian felt his stomach churn. Mickey was gritting his teeth behind the blood streaming from his nose, making the snarl from pain even more ugly. 

Mickey’s back was getting worse, old scars splitting like butter under the lashing. He was starting to slump down the pole, losing the strength to hold himself upright, when Mandy came running forward. 

“Stop! Stop you’re killing him!” She ran straight towards the captain. “He has the games! This is going to kill him!” She reached the arm of the guard before the others could get her. The guard shoved her off, throwing her to the ground. The others grabbed her and dragged her away to god knows where.

Her audacity earned him sixteen more lashes.


	18. Pre-Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The games are about to start again

Mickey hissed when the alcohol seeped into the wounds on his back. Ian’s dabs were gentle but with every slight touch he felt the burn. Like fire lighting up his body, fueling the one in him. “They just took her...right off the ground. What if..” 

Mandy was Mickey’s only younger sibling, the baby, the only girl. She was his responsibility. The promise he’d given his mother to care for her always heavy on his shoulders. Now she was just gone. In the clutches of the capitol and there was nothing he could do. He’d failed.

Ian dropped his hand and moved to hold him, kissing his shoulder, “I know Mick. I know.” Seeing his man this hurt had him hurting too. He couldn’t bring himself to lie. To tell Mickey that this would all be okay. This was the capitol. They never once had been known for their leniency, Wiping out entire districts was their mode of operation when things got bad.The districts were theirs to control and now that Ian and Mickey had sparked a fire in the underbelly of revolution they weren’t going to treat supporters with kindness. Even if they were family.  
___

Training was in full swing. New weapons introduced and deadlier environments being hinted to by harsher survival lessons.

Every victor was kept separate for so long. They wanted to wait until the dinner before the games started to have them all in one space. They had their rating right before. It’d take an idiot not to see the strategy. Turn the victors against each other, have them blame Ian and Mickey for ruining their sense of peace after so long of being trapped in their own games. They were who the capitol was angry with in the first place.

“Twelves. They gave us goddamn twelves. We’re both injured, we’re both suffering wounds they fucking gave us, but they’re gonna say we’re the deadly ones? They just painted targets on us!” Mickey was pacing, scared and letting it turn to rage. Ian knew this routine well. Knew how Mickey was. That’s why he sat and listened to him panic. Knew he had to get it out.

“You can hardly walk without that fucking crutch. They think you’re suddenly gonna just sprout wings and fly?!” Mickey gripped the edge of the dresser, letting his head fall between his shoulders.

Ian took his cue. He wrapped his arms around his waist and kissed his shoulder before setting his chin there. “I won’t let myself die, Mickey. I’m not going to leave you.” He couldn’t let this cloud him. He couldn’t have him scared like this, distracted. Distraction got you killed. Ian couldn’t lose Mickey anymore than Mickey couldn’t lose him. “I need you to survive. I need you to fight.”

Mickey turned in his arms. Stayed pressed back against the dresser, only ever okay with being cornered by this man. He looked up into those eyes. The mossy green he’d come to find as home. Warm and safe. He held his face and kissed him softly. “Fighting is all I know.” He smiled weakly, knew he needed to help make him relax. They both had to get through this.  
___

The dinner hall was vast. Filled to the brim with foods and wines. Drinks many victors would avoid to stay from having hangovers that first day. Death was something they all knew how to run from.

By the time Ian and Mickey arrived the other victors were all sitting around the table. Monsters of men and women. Many looked like they could weather any storm. They all had their eyes on the two that caused this.

Their silence was deafening.

A woman with dark hair and blue eyes was the first to approach them. She sized them up easily before standing before Mickey. A thick accent curdled her words when she spoke, “You are Mikhailo, yes?”

Mickey frowned, brows pulling low, “Who’s askin’?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed slightly “Svetlana. The boy, Yevgengy?” Mickey’s face paled, any mention of the child always a punch to the gut. “He is my son. I wish to thank you for staying by him.” She put her hand on his shoulder, a Russian word slipping from her lips before she said, “I stand by you in this.”

“We all do.” Another voice. This time from a guy. The majority of the table was now looking to them. All in solid agreement.

This was not going to be a battle against each other. This time, the capitol would lose.


	19. Victor's Game Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is later than usual. Life's been a lot lately. Depression's got me stuck.  
> Hope you enjoy

The countdown had started. They were ushered into stall-like rooms that would lift them into the arena. Mickey rolled his head, working the tightness out of his neck and ignoring the twinge of pain in his back from his lashing. He looked up, wanting to get this over with, knowing this game would be harsher than the last.

Right as they were about to raise him to the platform the door burst open, Mandy running in and hugging him tight. Shock and a sense of panic rushed over him as he heard her tell him to fight, to do anything he needed to do to win. 

The platform began to rise.

Peacekeepers rushed in.

The ceiling gate opened.  
Mandy was screaming as the tased her and took her down.

Mickey’s heart was in his throat.

He landed on a spot with narrow, muddy pathways leading to the larger section of the visible arena. It was clearly going to be a race.

His head was spinning with his racing pulse.

He couldn’t find Ian.

The count was down to five.

Where was Ian.

Three seconds.

Opposite side.

Start.

Mickey felt like jello.

____

Mickey was panicking. Ian could see it all over his face. He looked ready to vomit.

The gun went off and they all began to sprint.

Mickey didn’t move.

Ian screamed his name, burned his lungs as he told him to move. Mickey, thank god, began running just as the start of the mines went off. The spot he was just standing now obliterated. 

Ian’s leg was burning, slowly giving way under him, but the platform was so close. So close. He just had to get there. Get to Mickey.

He collapsed the second he reached the rickety, disk-like float. He nearly fell off but a string hand fisted his suit at his back, another gripped his arm. Mickey had his back-literally- and was hauling him up with help from the woman he remembered calling herself Svetlana. They got him holding onto the bars in the center, and just in time too, because the platform began to fall off into the water, spinning wildly as it did. Those not holding on started to fall as they were plunged below the surface like they were being waterboarded. When they hit the land Ian felt himself get thrown, his body rolling to a stop. Everything was blurred and spinning. Victors were yelling, feet storming against the earth as they ran. 

A warm body covered his back and panic set in until his eyes focused on the strong, protective arm of his Mickey. Svetlana standing in front of them like a lioness, ready to kill any who’d harm her cubs. The victors broke off, a large group staying with the three. Clearly choosing to follow whatever plan they came up with, ready to defy the capitol. 

Ian looked up to Mickey who looked to him, both panting, both riled with adrenaline and the fear of war. Mickey pulled him up helping Ian move, swearing when his leg gave way as they tried to move hard towards possible shelter. Ian felt guilt and fear fall low in his belly. He was dead weight. He’d get them killed if they tried staying with him. His fucking bum leg would be the end of them. He looked to Mickey, he couldn’t lose him.

“Leave me.”

Mickey froze, looking scandalized, “The fuck?”

“Leave me. If you keep up with me you’ll all get killed. I can’t run. Can’t keep up. Just fucking leave me and get out.” He stopped moving. He had to do this. Had to let Mickey survive. He pushed his chin out stubbornly to make his point clear.

Mickey looked at him, livid and terrified, “I’m not fucking leaving you, Ian. This isn’t even an argument I’m going to have. I will fucking drag you if I have to.” 

Ian looks at him then to the group. They all were putting their lives on the line for their same beliefs. All of them were at risk because of Ian’s handicap.

“Fine. Put it to a vote.”


	20. Icons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a beast of a chapter.  
> I'm back, though. Miss me?

Ian looked over their group waiting to figure out his fate, “Those in favor of leaving me raise your hand.”

A few did, clearly knowing he was dead weight, that if they wanted to survive their best bet was to leave those who couldn’t keep up or defend themselves.

Mickey growled and gripped him tighter, “‘Who’s not a fucking coward?”

The rest of the group raised their hands, a small, frail looking girl speaking up, “You’re the voice of this. Without you and Milkovich the revolution won’t work. We need an icon and you two created it.”

Mickey turned to Ian, eyes alight with that familiar fire, “You’re votes done then. You’re with us to the end, Gallagher.”

Ian gave a stubborn set of his jaw. He wasn’t going to let Mickey die for him, but he’d lost this match. He was hardly shocked when Mickey tossed his own pack onto him them scooped him up onto his back like some gangly child. With a grunt he directed their team to move, taking them deeper into the woods. The plan was to get to the barrier. Beat the game makers at their own game.

The group seemed to automatically form a wall around them, walking in almost a circle as they journeyed to their first stop. Svetlana stayed closest to them holding her daggers at the ready. She glanced towards them sharing a look and nod. They seemed to communicate in ways Ian’d only ever seen Mickey speak with Mandy or himself. Quiet understanding.

“We’re going to end this. No more games. No more babies dying.” Svetlana spoke softly, accent thick. 

Mickey gave a stubborn dip of his head, “The capitol’s gonna regret killing children this long. Gonna regret taking my sister. Takin’ Yev.”

Svetlana shared a strong look with him, reminding Ian that Yev was her baby. Having to lose a child you bore to war televised for those to laugh at, seeing the crowds jeer at his death like some reality television would start a fire in your belly like something unknown. If Ian was the boy on fire, Svetlana was the dragon.

______

They stopped by dark. Found a clearing about a mile out from water in the density of the woods. Mickey gently set Ian down against a tree and crouched to check his leg. Ian knew better than to fight his babying. Knew Mickey would simply tell him to stop being a bitch and do it anyhow. 

“Gonna end up with another goddamn infection.” He growled slightly at the purpling of his ankle.

Ian looked up, eyes a bit hesitant, “What about your back? You just carried me for an entire day on open wounds.”

Mickey snorted, dismissing him and his worry, “M’fine.” He moved to sit next to him, sighing in exhaustion.

Part of the group was starting a fire, two had left to scavenge food, another three off to get water.

Svetlana moved to be near them, “You both okay, yes?” She didn’t have the warmth of a mother, more the care of a drill sergeant. The attitude reminding Ian of his training to become a peacekeeper. It was a comforting personality.

“I should be able to move on my own tomorrow. Just need my leg to rest.” He looked over her hard face.

Mickey grunted his answer, ever annoyed at being asked about any form of weakness. “What’s the plan.”

Svet’s lips pulled into a serpent grin, “Destroy their arena. Take the games to them. Capitol is soft. Lived too long in fluffy rooms and easy life. We being them war they will crumble. Our civilians can fight. Theirs cannot. Pampered man babies.”

Mickey chuckles, “I’ll show ‘em that their love for Terry is a giant fucking mistake. Fucker raised soldiers.”

“I know how the peacekeepers work. Their routines.” Ian spoke up, knowing he would help most through strategy. He may not have the tactical brilliance of his brother but he knew how armies worked. Knew stances and formations. Knew guerilla warfare would take them out. They’d have to fight quietly, quickly. Move before they could team up. Take out leaders before they gave commands. It’d be hard, bloody and risky but if it worked, they’d have the capitol on stakes by the end of a few weeks.

She nodded to Ian, grateful these two had the backgrounds they did. “Your romance, is for television?” She eyed them trying to decide on something.

Ian looked to Mickey. He was proud of being with him, but this was Mickey’s chance to crawl back into the safety of the closet. He fully expected him to so when he spoke Ian thought the shock alone would kill him.

“No.” Mickey looked at her with a hardness only the truth could give. “Forgot there was even fuckin’ cameras. It’s real, least for me.” 

Ian slid his long fingers over Mickey’s thigh, looking to him with so much emotion, “It is for me too.” 

Svetlana made a sound low in her chest, “Careful with it then. Weakness will make you soft. You need to put revolution first or we fail. Love has no room in war.” Her words were hard, but honest. They both knew this would get ugly.

“We fight best together.” Mickey surprised them both by speaking.

Svetlana looked to Ian and pointed he dagger towards him, “See that it is true.” She finished with a shouted Russian word, clarifying the threat.

Ian gave her a nod, “Yep.”

She nodded and stepped away from them.

“Well….she’s sweet.” Ian looked to Mickey who snorted with humor.

“She’s a bear. Fuckin’ soft with kids but violent with everyone else. Think she likes ya though.” he grins.

“Coulda fooled me.” Ian rubs at his throat a bit amused by Mickey’s clear equal.  
____

The next morning Ian woke to the sounds of shouting.

With a startle he lurched forward, blinking in the low light of the sun rising. To see the group fighting off parts of another team. Apparently not everyone wanted to take down the capitol. These loyal victors wanted to take out the revolution before it began.

He pulled himself up, ignoring the twinge in his ankle. Looking around at the chaos that was taking over their feild.

Svetlana lifted a man twice her size, flipped him over her hunger pained frame and straight into their dying fire. The scream he let out searing into Ian’s brain like a bad memory. Too close to those he gave a similar fate to.

A branch snapped and his shot his eyes to the trees. A kid was hiding there, blowdart poised to his lips. With a quick glance Ian saw who was directly in the line of fire.

Mickey.

He moved quick, on instinct, and rushed forward. 

The shot whizzed by.

He slammed into his raven haired lover like a freight train, taking him to the dirt.

Mickey gasped and struggled until he saw the guy that’d he’d been facing go down with a dark to the face. Ian pinning him with his body.

Mickey’s eyes were wide as he looked up to Ian he cupped his face gently before gripping the back of his head and rolled with him using the momentum to swing himself upright amd block an incoming sword with the blade of his brass knuckles.

He snarled at the the guy swinging and shoved him back with the strength of his body. Ian watched in amazement how someone as seemingly small as Mickey always seemed to outpower those twice his size.

Then he felt it.

The dull burn running up his bad leg. He moved quickly and saw a dart sticking into his ankle.

Shit.

He ripped it out and threw it nailing the swordsman in the throat. Mickey spun and saw ian there struggling to tear open the tight cloth on his ankle. He was by the redhead’s side in seconds.

“You were hit.” He sounded terrified. The darts were poisoned. They all knew this.

Ian looked to Mickey and nodded gravely.

Mickey swung his back around, pulled out a tight rope and tied a tourniquet right below his knee. They didn’t have time to drain it. Not in the midst of a small battle. But he could stem the spreading. He grabbed Ians wrist using his own weight to haul him to his feet, just in time too, because Ian just managed to catch a thrown Svet.

“Like cockroaches the lot of em.” She hissed, crouching low like a lioness in hunt.

Ian looked up he pulled his knife from the holder on his thigh and gripped it in his teeth scaling the nearest tree. He had to take out the dart shooter or they’d lose too many. He could use the weapon too. 

Mickey watched him go for the briefest of seconds before rejoining the fray trusting Ian to do this.

Ian swung from the branches. Grateful the poison numbed his bad leg, a happy accident from getting hit. When he came down to land on the branch the sniper was on he went down knife first, a snap severing their spine.

He flung the corpse onto the nearest foe, taking the darts from them with the swipe. Taking aim and helping his team. Distance fighting was his best bet.

By the time it was over their group had shrunk by three or four. Mickey stood there splattered with blood and breathing hard. Svetlana still low and ready for attack.

“Clear!” Ian shouted from the branch, using his height to see the other points of the clearing. For now they were safe.

He slid down the trunk, limping over to Mickey and Svet. “Where did they even come from?”

“The waters.” Svet was the one to answer him. “We must move. Gather weapons and goods from the dead.” She stood tall.

“How’s the leg?” Mickey spoke quietly, knowing weakness couldn’t be known.

Ian glanced to him but stayed facing forward, “Numb for now. Prolly going to become an issue if I don’t drain it soon.”

Mickey grunted before speaking with a swipe to his nose, “Think it’ll get infected?”

“Hoping for the best.” That was all he could do for now. Hope nothing else went wrong.  
____

They managed to make it about half a mile from the barrier by the time they needed to rest for some time.

Ian fell back against a rock face with a sigh and pulled up his pant leg past his boot. His leg was purpling. Nasty and swollen.

“Not good” Svetlana spoke as she knelt near him. “Infection?”

“Poison. Sniper got me.” He ran a hand through his hair. This was going to suck.

Mick moved to him handing him a canteen and helping he take a few good glugs. He let out a soft gasp before wiping his mouth and looking to Mickey gratefully.

Then searing hot pain ran up his leg.

“What the fuck?!” He screamed out and whipped his head to where lana was setting aside a blade and pushing the poison from his leg.

“Best you distracted while incision is made.” She spoke like a preschool teacher. Dealin with idiots.

Ian slammed his head back on the stone, “You could at least fucking warn me.” He groaned a bit when he heard Mickey snickering next to him.

“Surprise is better.” Svetlana grinned, the sadist.

Mickey sat next to Ian, taking his hand to get him through the pain. “She’s got a point.”

Ian shot him a laser focused glare, “Nothing out of you.”

Mickey just grinned, the asshole. Least someone found humor in all of this.

“It should be empty.” Svetlana sat back. “Keep tie on. Is better.” She nods a bit.

“Where’d you learn this anyways?” Ian asked her.

Svet humed around her canteen as she moved to lean on the rock as well. “You heard of ocean district, yes?” 

Ian frowned, “Yeah? But it’s just a myth. The thing got wiped out by the capitol decades ago.”

Svet grinned, “That’s what they think. Is actually just moved. Into caverns in mountain side. We created a whole new home. Away from their drones and war. The revolution is alive there. We are readying for the fight. You two just beat us to the first punch.”

“Bullshit.” Ian shakes his head, stubborn logic telling him she’s pulling his leg, literally.

“Is true.” She looked to Mickey now. “Your man can prove. He knows the code.”

Mickey made a confused face, looking at her like she had sic heads until his eyes went wide in recognition, “The Hanging Tree.” 

“The what?” Ian looked to Mickey now, totally lost.

He looked to Ian, his face taking on a soft sadness he hadn’t seen before. “It’s uh...a song. My ma used to sing it to me’n Mandy. Thought it was just some Ukrainian thing.”

Svetlana shook her head, “I sing it in Russian. Is why Yevgeny knew it. Sang with you, I saw.”

Ian felt himself melt. He had no idea that Mickey had sang to the boy, with him as he died. Couldn’t imagine the pain that brought him. He looked to Svet, “Could you teach me it?”

She smiled, for the first time looking like a mother. She gave him a nod, “It is fight song. We all speak different languages. Sounds good when together. United.”

Mickey looks to her then up to the sky seeing the dome, “Going to make them all sing it. Make it the last thing they hear.”  
____

 

The morning they woke up to some sort of siren. A sound none had heard before. They were looking around trying to find where the sound was coming from but then there was this horrible sound of tearing metal and screams in the distance. Trees started crashing all around them and the second they heard the cannons shooting for dead victors they knew this would only get worse.

Ian felt like he was awake in a nightmare. The machine that came close bringing up memories he hadn’t shared with anyone before. Memories of a time hiding in the woods with his older brother, telling him his biggest secrets and his wish for a better life. The day had started so good but then the capitol had sent in the large metal monsters that tore down entire forests in minutes. Ian remembers running from the machine. Lip outrunning him by a long shot and he’d gotten caught, his jacket getting sucked into the blades and fear gripped him. He hadn’t known what to do and thought he was going to die. Lip had managed to get the jacket off him. The machine tearing open his arm as he shoved Ian away.

That’s how Ian knew. Seeing the machine, the same one but bigger, Lip was a game maker.

He turned quickly to Svetlana and Mickey. They had to get out of the trees. He shouted over the alarms to them telling them to run.

He took off trying to go as fast as his injured leg could carry him the sounds of trees collapsing all around them.

One fell, crushing a teammate, but they couldn't even morn. Just had to move. A large oak slammed to the ground, nearly taking out Mickey who just managed to jump over it as it hit.

Ian’s heart was in his throat. He couldn’t breathe.

Svet took a sharp turn. Too quick for Ian to notice. He just kept running and then he slammed straight into an invisible wall. 

The barrier.

Ian yelled. Called for them to hurry. Unsurprisingly, Mickey was the first by his side.

“It’s the barrier. We gotta get out. There's no way out of that machine. My fucking brother made them.” He growled with the rage inside him.

Mickey hissed, “You’re brother fucking what?”

Svetlana looked wide eyed behind them, “There’s two.” 

Sure enough, two large mowers were coming at both sides, blocking all other route but through the wall. 

“Fuck!” Mickey shouted.

Ian thought quick, remembering the one thing Lip had always shown him for cheating games with machines.

Over heat them.

He pulled out his pack and started trying to create a spark with the flint inside.

His hands were shaking.

It wasn’t lighting.

The machines were coming closer and closer by the second.

Finally he got a spark and grabbed the first thing he saw in his pack some sort of vaseline and tossed the two together against the barrier it seemed to fizzle out but Ian knew what was to come.

He moved, pulling Svet and Mickey just a bit ahead, closer to the machines. He stood in front of them. 

Squared his shoulders and lifted three fingers high with a kiss.

Then the explosion happened. Fire surrounding them like a shroud.

The barrier crumbling.

The machines dying


	21. Revolution Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Quarter Quell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> Sorry for such delayed updates. Life's gotten away from me between health, work and other personal things, I just havn't found time or inspiration to write. Promise I won't abandon this, it just may come slower than planned.
> 
> I'm also having to research the series some to keep things going and have it fit with the Shameless narrative. We're just at the point that'll take more stradegy.
> 
> Hope you understand!

21: Revolution Begins

When Ian woke up next he was staring at a ceiling, the smell of antiseptic harsh in his nose. He doesn’t remember anything after the explosion past the loud sound of choppers. Apparently, they had gotten picked up by somebody and the looks of it, it wasn’t the capitol. He turned his head slowly, everything felt heavy. A needle was in his arm feeding him what looked like fluids and blood. By his hip, holding his hand, was a familiar head of dark hair pressed down into the sheats. He gently moved his hand and started running it through Mickey’s hair. Seemed as though he had showered.

Mickey jumped at the touch, always easy to wake and constantly on guard. When he saw it was only Ian he melted, a soft smile appearing as he looked over him. “You’re up.” He moved closer to Ian’s side, pushing his dirty hair from his face. “How’re you feelin’?” 

“Tired.” His voice was thick, mouth felt cottony. “How long was I out?”

Mickey sniffed as sat back a bit, “Couple days. You took the biggest part of the blast.” He looked down, clearly thinking before speaking again, “Look..uh..you may not be super happy about this but it..it had to happen man. And I..I tried to fight it, but I..I couldn’t lose you so I..”

Ian frowned, Mickey was never nervous, never rambled like this. “Spit it out, Mick.”

Mickey sighed, scrubbing his face, then he looked at him serious as ever. “They had to take your leg.”

Ian’s heart skipped. They had to… He felt himself laugh brokenly. “Let me see.”

“I don’t think that..”

‘Goddammit Mickey! I’m not a fucking damsel in distress. Help me fucking see it!” He felt scared, out of control. He needed to know. Had to see for himself. His body was all he’d ever really had.

Mickey sighed, defeated, and helped Ian sit up. Then he was moving the blanket. Sure enough, Ian’s entire thigh was bandaged and right at the knee it just..stopped. He was broken. 

He leaned back with a choked, “Fuck”, his head against the pillows with his eyes squeezed shut.

Mickey sat back down, leaning over his knees with clasped hands, his leg bouncing rapidly.

“What happened?” Ian looked to him.

Mickey took a deep breath before talking, “It was infected. Filled with disease and then the poison from the darts. They thought they could drain it but the explosion had apparently heated the poison and just..I guess spread it or some shit. They told me it’d hit your heart if they didn’t get it off you. I...I couldn’t just let you die so I...I told them they could I..I know I..I..”

“Hey..” Ian reached out to him, smiling gently when Mickey looked up with a broken expression. “You saved me...again. I’m not mad at you, Mick. I would’ve done the same thing.”

Mickey’s eyes searched him. He looked for any hint of rage or upset, seeing none he just nodded and looked back down. “They’re makin’ you a prosthetic. Moldin’ it from your old leg. I just...I was kinda hopin’ you’d sleep till then.” He smiled weakly.

Ian couldn’t help but return the smile. “I love you.”

Mickey shook his head with a shy grin, getting up to press a quick kiss to his lips. “Love you, too.”   
______

Once they let Ian leave the medical ward, new leg strapped on and a crutch helping him walk they were led into what appeared to be a large conference room. 

People he’d never seen were there, looking at him in awe as he entered. The attention was unnerving but he felt safe with Mickey’s hand on the small of his back.

Svetlana came up to them then, a soft smile on her face, “Welcome to the revolution.” 

The Ocean District. It was real. They were here. They were safe. But this also meant the war was starting. Really starting.

A soft applause started in the room. People cheering on the boy on fire. Mickey and Ian had become the faces of this fight. Unofficial leaders.

After brief introductions and time to simply settle in and get some actual food, they were all gathered around the table.  
“The games will be delayed. Their arena is destroyed, but they’ll retaliate. I heard that the districts are all revolting. There will be punishment.” Svetlana leaned over the table, speaking soft but stern.

“Then we hit them first.” Mickey spoke up. “We might not have the same man power but if we show the people in the capitol what’s really happening in these districts, how they’re killing us even outside of the games, they might start to see what we do. If we can get more rebels on their own terf it’ll be easier to take the fuckers down.”

Ian nodded, “There’s already so many that feel the way we do. If we can get peacekeepers on our side that will be the biggest boost. It’ll be hard, nearly impossible with the new command, but changing the minds of even a third of them could mean the difference between dying and winning.”

The group seemed to agree. The first thing to do would be to show Ian and Mickey on broadcast. Show that they are as alive as the rebellion. They were the symbols of hope to the districts and would be the biggest keys of motivation. Without them the capital would be able to take over again with fear.   
_____

Mickey walked up to Ian late that night when he was sitting out on a ledge to the caves. He sighed as he sat next to Ian, staying quiet and letting him enjoy the fresh air. 

“This isn’t going to have a happy ending.” Ian’s voice was soft, barely even there.

“I know.” Mickey looked to him, seeing that Ian had turned towards him already. “We weren’t going to get a fairytale ending even if we played their game. At least this way we won’t die slaves.”

Ian nods slowly and leans back on his hands, looking to the sky, “They’re going to try to break us. It’s going to get ugly.”

Mickey put a hand on one of Ian’s and looks up to him, “Then we should try to focus on every good thing we’ve got.” 

Ian smiled softly as he took in Mickey’s words, giving him a soft nod.

The next day they were in a small group to make the announcement that they were very much alive and well. 

They’d taken them to the carnage of what used to be the square of the ocean’s town. Filmed them as they walked out from the last standing shelter, moved slowly of the broken pieces of the city, meeting in the middle and taking eachothers hands. The angle of the camera getting every bruise and scrape still on their skin, Ian’s leg uncovered and shining in the low light of morning. They came to a stop in the center, right where the reaping would have been, and looked directly at the camera.

Ian was the one to speak, “We’re still here. Still fighting. You’ll never destroy the districts. Without us you are nothing.”

The feeling of strength filled him, made him feel like they could actually do this. It seemed to fill Mickey as well because the boy lifted their hands, kissed the back of Ian’s, then raised them like when they were on the chariot at the start of the first games. “Welcome to the revolution.”


End file.
